MAY  MARGA1J.T 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

JAMES  J.  MC  BRIDE 


MAY    MARGARET 


B 

O      I, 

< 

H 

CO 

o 
o 

(A) 

D 
O 

U 


< 

Ul 

I 

H 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
S.  R.  Crockett 


A  ^\% 


^. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Bread  and  Water— and  Kitchen  Thereto  i 

One  Leg  Green  and  One  Leg  Pink  6 

Cour  Cheverney  14 

A  Good  Fight  22 

Furry  Ears  33 

William  Douglas  Speaks  42 

A  Young  Maid's  Lovers  So 

Margaret  of  Margarets  58 

The  Garden  at  Amboise  64 

La  Belle  des  Belles  71 

The  Mists  of  Dee  79 

What  Maud  Lindsay  Taught  Me  90 

The  Last  Grains  in  the  Sand-Glass  98 

XIV    Ave,  Amor— Atque  Vale!  106 

XV    The  Great  Heart  of  a  Man  112 

A  Married  Maid  118 

The  Cottage  by  the  Three  Thorns  125 

The  Penance  of  Jock  the  Penman  132 

The  Scent  of  the  White  Thorn  138 

Instruction  in  Loving  146 

Douglas  Rides  Late  i57 

The  Douglas  Bids  Good-Bye  167 

The  First  Stroke  of  Doom  i7S 

His  Hour  182 

XXV    James  Douglas,  Benedict  187 

XXVI    The  One  Ewe  Lamb  I94 

vii 


II 

III 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 


XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 


7,12 


935 


vm 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII  The  White  Face  of  Fate  201 

XXVIII  I  See  a  Star  210 

XXIX  Dies  Ir^ — Gloaming  216 

XXX  Dies  Irje  II. — With  Garments  Dyed  in  Blood    222 

XXXI  Dies  Ir^  III. — The  First  Day  of  the  Wrath    227 

XXXII  Dies  Ir^  IV.— How  the  Sun  Went  Down         234 

XXXIII  Arkinholm  242 

XXXIV  A  Maiden  Left  Alone  250 
XXXV  The  Eagles  Are  Gathered  Together  256 

XXXVI  The  Young  Man  in  Black  265 

XXXVII  Whom  God  Hath  Touched  270 

XXXVIII  A  Prince  Among  Hammermen  276 

XXXIX  Sholto  Also  is  a  McKim  288 

XL  Archibald  the  Grim  295 

XLI  In  the  Front  of  War  304 

XLII  Sholto  Stands  in  the  Breach  311 

XLIII  In  the  Night  Season,  One  Cometh  up  3U 

XLIV  The  Woods  of  Birnam  327 

XLV  The  Peace  of  Zimri  334 

XLVI  Jack  Neville's  Anne  342 

XL VI I  A  Rare  Salt  Fellow  35  i 

XLVI  1 1  Canon  Law  359 

XLIX  Malise  Does  His  Work  363 

L  The  Worn  Path  372 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  There  was  a  curious  constraint  upon  us  "  Frontispiece 

"  And  again  he  bowed  and  kissed  the  hand 

OF  THE  Lady  Superior  "  Facing  page      lo 

"  I  saw  our  ancient  castle  of  Thrieve  stand 

UP  out  of  THE   morning   MISTS  "  "  "  80 

" '  Child  .  .  .  you  torment  me  past  bear- 
ing'" "         "       IS4 

"  It  was  the  nightly  amusement  of  the 
soldiers  ...  to  cluster  along  the  ridge 
and  look  down  upon  us  "  "         "      284 

'"Dear     lady,     no     difficulty     whatsoever 

exists!'"  "         "      360 


The  Memory  of  Her  Beauty  Lives " 


MAY   MARGARET 

CHAPTER  I 

BREAD-AND- WATER — AND    KITCHEN    THERETO! 

Oh,  I  was  so  tired — so  weary.  I  could  hear  my  jaw 
crack,  at  the  corners  where  the  strings  are,  each  time  I 
yawned.  And  not  without  reason.  For  I  was  nearly 
eighteen  and  had  been  two  years  in  the  nunnery  of  the 
holy  St.  Brigida  of  Cheverney. 

Lord,  Lord !  how  I  hated  it — I,  Margaret  Douglas,  who 
had  been  the  petted  of  great  men  and  strong  men  ever 
since  I  could  remember — aye,  and  before !  I,  who  had 
known  Maud  Lindsay  (called  the  "  Snarer  of  Hearts  ") 
in  her  best  time,  who  had  sworn,  when  no  more  than 
thirteen,  that  I  would  outdo  her — to  end  thus,  to  be 
despatched  like  a  bale  of  goods  at  sixteen  years  of  age 
out  of  Scotland!  (Well,  that  I  would  not  have  minded 
so  greatly.  'Tis  a  dull  sour  place,  wet  above  and  boggy 
below,  with  much  damp  mist  between!) 

But  what  irked  me  was  that  I,  who  before  I  could  walk 
had  been  called  the  Fair  Maid  of  Galloway,  should  be  let 
grow  fusty  and  frowsy  as  the  Sister  of  Mercy  who  goes 
from  to  door  to  door,  begging  for  the  poor — all  because 
I  had  a  cousin  who  wanted  to  marry  me  and  so  keep 
Galloway  and  the  Highland  estates  in  the  family  coffer — 
bah! 

Well,  at  any  rate,  I  had  just  to  bear  it.  Tinkle-tankle ! 
Oh,  yes,  there  went  the  weary  bells,  like  cracked  tin 
mugs  which  the  gipsy-folk  peddle  out  of  their  asses' 
saddlebags  along  with  coarse  cloth  for  "  jupes,"  or 
sleeved  waistcoats,  and  at  the  bottom  red  earth  for 
marking  sheep  withal ! 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  black  roaring  winter  or 


2  MAY    MARGARET 

gracious  June — out  you  must  turn  in  this  our  Convent 

of  the  Birch aye,  though  you  be  thrice  a  Princess 

in  your  own  right.  And  they  would  not  let  you  have  so 
much  as  a  drop  of  warm  water  in  a  pottery  jar  for  the 
foot  of  your  bed  (mightily  comforting  it  is  to  lone 
women!),  nor  even  suffer  you  to  sleep  in  your  woollen 
gonelle,  which  is  to  say  gown,  that  hath  a  hood  to  it, 
and,  being  turned  head-and-heels,  makes  an  admirable 
nest  for  cold  great-toes  a-nights.  I  have  suffered  from 
cold  feet  all  my  days.  Indeed,  if  I  had  not,  perhaps  I 
had  been  a  happier  woman.^ 

Then  tinkle-tankle  all  over  again  and  prayers  and  read- 
ing of  the  Scripture  at  nine.  Never  a  bite  or  a  sup  till 
half-past  ten,  when,  while  you  feed  in  silence,  they  read 
to  you  out  of  the  Lives  of  the  Saints — about  how  Sister 
Brigida,  afterwards  martyred,  established  this  holy  order 
of  nuns  and  died  in  the  hope  of  a  better  life.  The  which 
I  judged  to  be  an  espcrance  noways  over-sanguine! 
For  the  Good  God  knows  she  would  have  had  to  travel 
fast  and  far,  that  same  holy  Bridget,  to  find  a  worse  life 
than  that  rule  conventual  she  established,  and  which,  for 
my  sins,  had  been  transported  from  the  savage  land  of 
Ireland  (where  it  belonged)  to  the  sweet  and  smiling 
Touraine  that  lay  outside  these  weary  walls.  But  since 
you  cannot  see  a  smile  even  thirty  miles  broad  through 
walls  four  feet  thick,  I  might  just  as  well  have  been  on 
the  Bog  of  Allen. 

So  it  went  on.  Tinkle-tank  of  bells — whirr  of  doves' 
wings  (we  had  them  three  times  a  week  to  evening  refec- 
tion— the  wings  oftener  than  the  doves,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned).  Coo-roo-coo-roo!  From  high  up  in  the 
bell-tower  the  sound  came.  Then  the  buzz  of  flies  and 
wasps  and  angry  red-bottomed  bees  trying  to  find  their 
way  through  the  painted  window-panes.  Yes,  oh  yes,  it 
was  peaceful,  and  hungrysome  and  chastening,  and  made 
me  wish  to  be  a  crow  or  a  sparrow  or  a  midge — I  was  not 
at  all  particular — at  any  rate  something  that  could  fly 
away   into   the   blue   beyond   the    confinement   of   these 

*  There  is  a  pithy  note  here  inserted  by  Le  Sieur  Philip  Herault, 
which,  however,  need  not  impede  the  Fair  Maid's  narrative. 


BREAD-AND-WATER  3 

sorrowful  walls,  within  which  the  Lady  Superior  forever 
snored  in  her  cell  and  Sister  Eulalie  yattered  eternally 
at  one's  tail,  snivelling  out  threats  of  punishment  if  you 
climbed  a  tree  or  so  much  as  took  a  garden  ladder  to 
look  over  the  wall.  Not  that  there  was  much  to  see, 
when  you  did  look  over — only  the  wide  spread  of  the 
forest  and  the  green  fields — not  in  patches,  as  in  Scot- 
land, with  heather  and  whin-bloom  everywhere,  but  all 
in  cultivated  squares,  like  a  painted  chess-board.  There 
were  poor  men,  also,  with  legs  blackened  in  the  sun, 
half-naked  or  even  with  no  more  than  a  clout  about  them, 
that  ran  at  a  look,  or  shrieked  for  the  clink  of  an  iron 
ring. 

Once  I  threw  over  the  wall  to  one  of  these  poor 
wretches  my  purple  jupe  (the  colour  never  became  me), 
which  was  of  warm  cloth — also  because  the  weather, 
being  August,  made  me  to  sweat  when  I  wore  it. 

And  for  this,  as  well  as  for  speaking  to  a  man,  Sister 
Eulalie  docked  me  of  all  food  save  bread-and-water  for 
four  days.  "  Yet,"  said  I,  "  Bridget  of  Kildare,  the  holy, 
never  had  petticoat  in  her  life  to  bless  herself  withal ! 
So  where  is  the  harm?" 

"  You  have  looked  upon  a  man — a  mortal  sin !  "  said 
she,  turning  up  the  sourish,  plum-coloured  tip  of  her 
nose,  which  had  a  drop  on  it  chilly  as  winter,  even  in  the 
summer  heats, 

"  Well,  people  do  not  die  of  it.  So  did  my  mother 
before  me !  "  quoth  I,  knowing  well  all  the  time  that  I  was 
not  wise,  yet  being  tempted,  and  my  choler  getting  the 
better  of  me. 

"  But  he  looked  upon  you,"  she  cried,  raising  her  voice 
in  order  to  wake  the  Superior,  "  the  while  you  took 
off " 

"  No,  no,"  I  said,  willing  to  appease  her  if  possible 
before  it  was  too  late,  "  he  was  no  man  really,  only  a  wild 
savage,  black  as  a  Moor  of  Barbary.  And,  besides,  I 
went  down  the  ladder  backwards,  and  let  my  jupe  fall  to 
the  ground  betwixt  the  wall  and  a  gooseberry  bush " 

"  Silence ! "  commanded  Sister  Eulalie,  raising  her 
hand,  with  one  finger  pointed  to  the  zenith ;  "  silence  or 


4  MAY    MARGARET 

I  will  take  you  indoors  forthwith  to  Madame  the 
Superior!  " 

Then,  being  at  the  time  but  a  girl,  I  pouted,  and 
answered  back. 

"  Why,  it  is  nothing,"  I  said.  "  Did  not  the  Scripture 
which  was  read  from  the  lectern  in  the  refectory  on 
Wednesday  tell  of  the  never-to-be-sufficiently-reverenced 
Judith  who  did  more  than  that?  Yes,  much  more,  or  she 
is  sore  belied " 

"  Take  from  me,  thou  wicked  one,  six  days'  bread- 
arid " 

But  at  that  very  moment  the  great  gate  opened,  and 
through  it  I  could  see,  with  a  train  of  churchmen  behind 
him — shaven,  shorn,  clad  in  white  and  scarlet  and  green, 
with  a  peaked  cap  all  glittering  with  gold  upon  his  head, 
who  but  Laurence  McKim,  my  old  playmate  who  had 
helped  to  save  me  (though  I  had  forgotten  much  of 
the  details)  from  the  terrible  Sieur  de  Retz,  at  Machecoul. 
Also,  who  used  to  kiss  me — I  remember  that.  Yes,  it  is 
true,  my  memory  only  shows  in  patches,  but  the  patches 
are  mostly  bright  ones. 

Well,  who  will  blame  if  I  broke  away  from  Sister 
Eulalie,  crying  "  Larry,  Larry !  " 

Half  crying  too — or  perhaps  a  little  more  than  half. 
And  so  would  anyone — yes,  anyone !  That  is,  anyone 
who  had  been  as  long  as  I  in  the  convent-prison  of  St. 
Brigida  of  Cheverney. 

I  flung  myself  upon  him.  He  was  riding  a  white  mule 
oh,  finer,  much  finer  than  that  of  the  Bishop  of 
Evreaux.  And  I  was  so  agile  from  being  fed  like  a 
greyhound,  and  with  being  so  very  glad  to  see  him,  that 
I  would  have  kissed  him  if  I  could.  Yes,  truly,  what  is 
the  use  of  being  a  princess  else !  But,  as  it  was,  I 
could  only  get  my  arm  half  about  his  waist,  before  Sister 
Eulalie  was  upon  me. 

He  bent  down  to  disengage  me  gently,  murmuring  in 
Scots,  "  Wait  a  little  while !  "  And  then  he  stretched 
out  two  fingers  over  my  head  and  said  in  a  voice  full  of 
the  music  which  first  made  my  uncle  take  him  to  Dulce 
Cor  as  a  chorister,  "Bless  you,  my  child!" 


BREAD-AND-WATER  5 

As  one  stricken  by  palsy,  Sister  Eulalie  fell  back, 
marvelling  at  the  great  ecclesiast  and  his  princely 
retinue.  And  (best  of  all)  Larry,  my  Larry  gave  her 
his  ring  to  kiss.  It  was  good  to  see.  Also  he  queried 
with  his  eye  if  I  loved  her — if  she  had  been  good  to  me. 
But  I  shook  my  head  and  frowned  till  he  understood, 
and  nodded,  meaning  thereby  that  he  had  come  to  do 
some  little  regulating  of  accounts. 

"  I  have  been  to  Rome,  sister,"  he  said,  "  the  point  of 
my  right  shoe  and  the  four  iron  shoes  of  my  beast  have 
been  blessed  by  the  Holy  Father.  If  there  be  sin  upon 
you,  bend  down  and  kiss  them  also." 

And  while  Sister  Eulalie  was,  for  her  soul's  good, 
embracing  of  the  beast's  near  front  hoof  (and  doing  it 
gingerly,  too,  for  the  mule  had  a  spirit  of  its  own), 
Larry  whispered  to  me,  "  These  behind  there  do  not 
matter !  "  At  the  same  time  he  waved  his  hand  towards 
his  followers.  They  all  with  one  accord  turned  their 
heads  from  us  in  the  direction  of  the  garden  gate. 

He  then  pushed  out  his  foot  in  the  silver  stirrup  for  a 
mounting  step. 

"  Now  !  "  he  whispered. 

And  in  a  moment,  with  the  help  of  his  hand,  I  was  up 
like  a  bird.  And  it  is  past  telling  how  good  it  was. 
For,  judge  ye,  it  was  two  years  since  I  had  been  kissed — 
by  a  man,  that  is.  And  others  do  not  really  count,  as  I 
have  seen.  Well,  in  a  moment  I  was  down  again  and 
toying  demurely  with  my  rosary,  before  the  white  mule 
and  Sister  Eulalie  had  agreed  about  the  salutation  of  the 
last  shoe  of  blessed  iron.  Larry  had  his  people  well 
trained.  For  nobody  laughed.  Indeed,  what  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  embrace  one  of  my  own  folk 
after  two  years.  Yet  what  the  young  man's  manners  at 
Rome  must  have  been,  to  make  them  as  biddable,  it  is, 
as  I  tell  him,  better  only  guessing. 

Ah,  it  was  a  good  world  after  all — that  which  God  had 
made;  and  has  a  way  of  improving  suddenly  when  it  is 
at  its  black  worst. 


CHAPTER  II 

ONE  LEG  GREEN  AND  ONE  LEG  PINK 

For,  after  all,  Laurence  was  a  good  deal  older  than  I. 
And  that  makes  a  difference.  Besides,  he  had  known 
me  from  the  time  that  Maud  Lindsay  sent  me  to  play 
with  him,  that  she  might  have  the  more  time  (and  the 
better)  in  which  to  torment  his  brother  Sholto  with  her 
wilfulnesses. 

That  was,  of  course,  before  they  were  married  and  had 
five  children.     Some   time  before. 

But  all  of  that  may  be  read  in  the  history,  that  is  titled 
after  the  chief  of  our  house,  "  The  Black  Douglas." 
But  that  is  writ  solemnly  and  of  set  purpose ;  also  straight 
on,  as  a  book  should  be,  while  this  which  for  my 
pleasure  I  am  writing  contains  just  the  things  that  a 
woman  has  done  and  thought  and  heard  and  seen  ever 
since  she  was  a  girl,  and  is  of  little  value  save  to  herself 
and  to  make  the  winter  nights  pass. 

And  so  Laurence  McKim  was  an  abbot,  and,  indeed, 
might  have  been  a  bishop  had  he  wished  it.  But  he  was 
not  given  that  way,  having  enough  knowledge  of  him- 
self to  know  that  he  was  not  worthy.  That  he  was  a 
real  Lord  Abbot  I  knew.  For  had  not  I  myself  made 
him  so — or,  rather,  my  cousins  William  and  James,  who 
acted  for  me,  and  did  not  cross  me  in  aught,  save  only  in 
sending  me  to  this  abominable  convent! 

But  that  is  always  the  way  with  men.  They  give  us  a 
thousand  things  we  do  not  want ;  they  refuse  us  the  one 
thing  we  do. 

I  wonder,  indeed,  how  they  would  have  liked  it  them- 
selves. William  would  have  spitted  the  porteress  in  a 
week,  I  know,  and  broke  open  the  great  spiked  door. 
But  James,  who  was  ever  ready  with  his  answer,  had  in 
after-times  the  effrontery  to  tell  me  that  he  would  have 


ONE  LEG  GREEN  AND  ONE  LEG  PINK      7 

liked  it,  contenting  himself  always  well  where  women 
were. 

Bah!  At  any  rate,  I  am  not  come  to  that  yet.  Then 
I  was  glad  enough  to  see  Larry.  Yes,  glad  with  a  great 
gladness  that  no  man  can  tell.  And  he  did  not  even 
damp  me  when  he  out  with  a  great  folded  parchment, 
all  done  in  purple  and  black,  with  the  seal  of  St.  Peter 
hanging  to  it,  almost  as  big  as  the  great  censor  of  Treves 
which  only  a  six-foot  man  can  swing. 

And  then,  last  of  all,  there  came  out  the  Lady  Superior, 
whom  we  maids  called  the  Bald  Cat.  I  mean  that  I  did — 
I,  and  two  French  girls  who,  for  various  kittenishnesses 
wrought  in  overstrait  homes,  had  been  sent  to  the  Sign 
of  the  Bald  Cat  to  repent  themselves  of  their  sins.  The 
Lady  Superior's  other  name  was  Marie  Noel  de  St. 
Verrier,  and  she  had  (I  remarked  it  myself,  but  not 
overtlv  to  Sister  Eulalie)  as  much  discernment  of  the 
good  things  of  life  or  the  honest  well-meaning  thoughts 
of  men  and  women,  as  a  sow  hath  of  the  perfumes  in  a 
flower  garden.  She  had  but  one  table  in  her  decalogue — 
that  at  which  she  did  continually  over-eat  herself.  But 
one  article  in  her  credo,  that  all  was  right  which  was 
done  within  the  convent  of  St.  Brigida  of  Cheverney,  and 
all  wrong  that  was  done  outside  of  it. 

Well — there  was  more  done  in  St.  Brigida  than  was 
told  to  Madame  Noel  de  St.  Verrier — otherwise  and 
more  exactly  the  Bald  Cat. 

But  let  it  be  understood  that  Laurence,  Venerable  Prior 
of  the  Abbey  of  Holy  Devorgil,  called  Duke  Cor  by  Sol- 
way  Side,  did  not  in  the  least  misbecome  his  errand. 
Troth,  sirs,  I  wot  not !  William,  my  cousin,  now  Earl  of 
Douglas,  would  not  have  sent  him  else.  He  was,  albeit, 
a  young  and  personable  prelate,  also  well  to  look  upon — 
a  thing  which  always  had  its  effect  with  the  Bald  Cat — 
that  is,  in  a  man.  In  girls  she  could  not  abide  it.  She 
cut  their  lovelocks  to  the  bristle  with  her  own  hand, 
and  added  an  extra  six  inches  to  their  poke  bonnets  if 
their  eyes  sparkled.  But  not  to  mine.  For  though  she 
had  been  bidden  to  be  strict  with  me  in  the  matter  of 
discipline,  yet  for  all  that,  I  was  still  a  Princess  in  my 


8  MAY    MARGARET 

own  country,  and  the  daughter  of  one  Duke  of  Touraine 
and  the  sister  of  another. 

But  the  Bull— the  Papal  Bull ! 

The  Bald  Cat  took  it,  fumbling  meanwhile  for  the  pieces 
of  Venice  glass  set  together  in  an  oval  frame  with  water 
between  them,  by  means  of  which  it  pleased  her  to  think 
that  she  could  read.  But  all  the  glasses  in  the  world — no, 
not  Agrippa's  ball  of  crystal  itself,  could  have  taught 
her  to  read  that  Papal  Bull.  It  was  in  Latin,  and  so 
after  turning  it  this  way  and  that,  she  gave  it  back  to 
the  Abbot  Laurence,  who  now  stood  before  her,  tall  and 
young  and  fair  to  look  upon. 

"  Read  it,  if  you  please,  your  learned  Reverency ! "  she 
said,  softly  for  her. 

But  Laurence,  with  a  proud  gesture,  which  amounted 
almost  to  contempt,  handed  it  to  the  almoner  of  the 
Convent,  Father  Pierre  Bartentane,  called  Gigot  from 
his  shape — this,  by  us  ill-behaved  girls. 

"  Let  the  Lady  Abbess  hear  what  says  the  Holy 
Father !  "  he  said.  "  As  I  am  come  to  carry  off  her  fair- 
est flower,  I  wish  her  to  understand  that  I  do  not  mis- 
construe my  warrant !  " 

I  leaped  towards  Larry,  and  would  have  hugged  him 
in  my  arms. 

"  Am  I  indeed  quit  of  this  for  ever  and  a  day  ? "  I 
cried  in  our  own  Scots,  which  I  knew  that  none  of  the 
others  could  understand. 

"  Am  I  to  go  away  with  you?     Tell  me  quick!  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Laurence,  turning  away  his  ej'es,  "  you  are 
to  go  with  me.  But — I  am  to  take  you  to  marry  your 
cousin  William — my  Lord  Earl  of  Douglas." 

"  The  Man  of  Iron !  "  I  said. 

And  I  think  I  made  a  wry  face  and  shrugged  my 
shoulders — for  I  was  but  young  and  knew  no  better.  "  I 
had  rather  it  had  been  yourself  I  was  to  wed,  Larry,"  I 
said.     "  And  that  in  spite  of  your  clerkery !  " 

His  face  reddened  till  it  became  almost  scarlet.  But 
he  did  not  look  at  me  as  he  replied. 

"  My  clerkhood  would  not  stand  in  my  way,  God  wot — 
if  that  were  all,"  he  answered,  "  but  my  lady,  I  do  not 


ONE  LEG  GREEN  AND  ONE  LEG  PINK      9 

forget  that  I  am  but  a  poor  man's  son,  and  my  princess's 
very   humble   servant." 

Now,  all  this  about  young  Laurence  McKim  being 
Abbot  of  beautiful  Dulce  Cor,  and  yet  no  whit  a  monk 
(save  that  he  could  sing  like  an  angel),  may  sound 
strange  to  ears  accustomed  to  authority  episcopal  and 
papal,  to  monasteries  French  and  Italian.  But  in 
Galloway  we  Douglases  minded  not  the  King  of  Scots 
at  all,  wet  day  or  dry  day,  and  the  Pope  only  when  we 
had  need  of  him — generally  to  give  us  leave  to  marry 
within  the  prescribed  degrees,  for  the  sake  of  the 
Douglas  properties,  family  tree,  and  such-like.  At  other 
times  we  of  the  Southern  House  did  much  as  we  liked, 
in  the  Church  as  in  the  State,  our  yea  being  yea,  and 
our  nay,  nay. 

Now,  the  Douglases  of  the  Red  grew  great,  and  are  to* 
this  day  great  and  high,  by  reason  of  truckling  and 
fawning  on  the  King  and  the  Stewarts.  But  the 
Douglases  of  the  Black — never !  All  except  my  Lord 
James,  that  is,  and  he  never  could  help  trying  to  please 
all  that  came  his  way,  man  and  woman,  gentle  and 
simple.  For  he  was  ruddy  as  young  David,  the  shepherd 
boy  that  became  a  king,  tall,  too,  like  a  god ;  and  my 
heart — went  after  him.  Ah !  but  enough  of  this.  The 
time  to  tell  these  things  is  not  yet.  All  the  same,  James 
was  always  at  heart,  as  in  his  person,  a  Douglas  of  the 
Red.     For  me,  I  am  Black  of  the  Black. 

It  was,  of  course,  impossible  that  all  the  great  train  of 
honour  and  of  defence  which  William  Douglas,  my 
cousin,  had  given  to  the  Abbot  Laurence  to  travel  to 
Rome  withal  should  find  lodging  within  the  walls  of  the 
convent  of  St.  Brigida.  Indeed,  as  these  (barring  the 
churchmen)  were  exclusively  soldiers,  and  dashing^ 
blades  most  of  them,  it  was  perhaps  as  well,  or  certain 
variations  in  the  Rule  of  that  most  excellent  founder 
might  have  been  introduced. 

So  it  fell  out  exceedingly  a  propos.  While  the  Bald 
Cat  was  hesitating  what  she  should  do,  hemming  and 
hawing  hither  and  thither,  trying  to  grant  and  not  to 
grant  at  the  same  time,  as  was  her  bald-cattish  way^ 


do  MAY   MARGARET 

there  appeared  from  the  midst  of  the  retinue  a  man  in 
an  ample  "  pelicon,"  or  pelisse,  longer  than  was  then  in 
vogue,  but  with  a  rich  under-garnishing  of  fur.  This 
garment  had  a  wide  rolling  collar,  all  covered  over 
with  the  Bloody  Heart  of  the  Douglases,  and  a  great 
"  bar  sinister  "  of  threaded  gold  crossed  the  mantle  from 
shoulder  to  its  deepest  fold,  as  if  it  had  been  a  heraldic 
shield  hung  upon  an  altar. 

The  newcomer  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  quickly  grey- 
ing, and  with  a  mouth  that  pouted  continually  like  that 
of  a  pettish,  changeable  woman.  His  long  hose  were 
of  silk,  in  what  I  afterwards  found  was  the  height  of  the 
fashion  at  Paris — one  leg  and  thigh  being  covered  with 
pale  blush  rose-colour  and  the  other  tucked  out  in  clear 
greenish  white,  like  that  which  one  sometimes  sees 
behind  a  windy  sunset,  far  in  the  deeps  of  the  sky. 

The  man  was  indeed  a  marvel  to  behold,  and  at  the 
sight  of  him  the  High  Lady  Superior  ordered  all  her 
pcnsionnaircs,  especially  the  two  kittenish  French  girls, 
back  to  their  cells.  But  in  the  circumstances,  of  course, 
she  was  forced  to  permit  me  to  remain.  I  should  not 
have  obeyed  in  any  case.  I  would  have  shaken  the  Papal 
Bull  in  her  face. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  am  Paul  Herault  de  Douglas, 
Sieur  de  Cheverney.  Pemiit  me,  Madame  the  Superior, 
to  kiss  your  fair  and  devoted  hand !  " 

The  haughty  expression  which  had  distinguished  the 
Mother  Superior  swiftly  gave  place  to  another — one  of 
almost  fearful  anticipation. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  then  you  are  our  over-lord  of  Cour 
Cheverney,  the  Seignior  and  civil  protector  of  this 
blessed  house  of  religion?" 

"  I  fear  I  have  but  ill  done  my  duty,"  said  the  Sieur 
Paul,  smiling  and  pouting.  "  I  have  wasted  my  time, 
lingering  so  long  in  Paris,  in  the  train  of  the  King, 
helping  to  drive  out  the  English,  and  also  employed  in 
other  ways.  I  have  somewhat  neglected  my  property 
of  Cheverney — more  especially  in  so  far  as  concerns  my 
duty  to  you,  and  to  this  noble  and  beautiful  establish- 
ment !  " 


Oh 


D 
< 


I 

h 
O 

Q 

< 
I 


X 
h 

Q 


Q 
2 

< 

D 
Ed 

O 

CO 


< 
< 

Q 
A 

<: 


ONE  LEG  GREEN  AND  ONE  LEG  PINK     ii 

And  again  he  bowed  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Lady 
Superior. 

"  A  beautiful  hand  and  one  more  fit  for  a  king's  court 
than !  " 

He  stopped,  and  believe  it  who  will  (the  sisters  in  the 
convent  would  not)  the  Bald  Cat  lifted  her  forefinger 
and  waggled  it  at  him,  right  well  pleased,  smiling  the 
while  like  a  fox  at  a  barnyard  pullet. 

"  Ah,  naughty,"  she  murmured  coaxingly,  "  these  are 
indeed  the  manners  of  a  court.  But  in  Touraine  we  are 
accustomed  to  plainer  things,  are  we  not,  sister  Mar- 
garet ?  " 

And  she  turned  to  me  as  she  spoke.  But  I  had  suffered 
too  much  already,  and  was  in  no  mood  to  be  gracious  at 
the  eleventh  hour. 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  I  am  no  sister,  either  of  yours  or 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Bridget.  Call  in  Sister  Eulalie 
with  her  bread-and-water,  if  you  like — she  will  tell  you. 
I  am  on  my  way  to  be  married  to  the  greatest  lord  in 
all  Scotland,  and,  besides,  I  am  a  princess  in  my  own 
right !  " 

It  was  not,  perhaps,  very  ladylike,  though  I  have  heard 
worse  things  said  by  much  greater  and  wiser  people. 
But  then  no  more  can  bread-and-water  for  four  days  be 
called  "  ladylike."  If  girls  of  eighteen  are  to  be  treated 
like  galley-knaves — God  wot,  somebody  has  to  pay  for  it 
in  the  end. 

Yet  I  was  no  little  ashamed  when  the  Lady  Superior 
took  my  ill-nature  with  great  quietude,  passing  it  over 
as  the  mere  naughtiness  of  a  child,  as  yet  irresponsible — 
and  so  (I  grant  it)  showing  herself  of  the  better 
breeding. 

Then  the  Sieur  Paul,  advancing  the  rose-blush  leg  out 
of  his  armorial  mantle  (or  as  we  women  say  pelisse), 
invited  me  to  consider  his  Castle  of  Cour  Cheverney  my 
home  till  such  time  as  I  should  be  ready  to  set  out  upon  my 
journey  to  Scotland,  there  to  wed  with  my  cousin 
William — my  Lord  High  Buckram-and-Iron,  as  I  had 
already  named  him  in  my  heart. 

Indeed,  the  phrase,  which  I  thought  happily  invented. 


12  MAY    MARGARET 

passed  my  lips  that  very  night  after  we  had  departed  for 
Cour  Cheverney.  I  was  speaking-  to  Laurence  at  the 
time.  But  to  my  surprise  and  vexation  he  rebuked  me 
for  it,  saying  that  WilHam  of  Avondale  was  worth  all 
the  rest  of  the  family  put  together — all,  that  is,  who 
had  been  left  on  the  earth  after  the  Black  Dinner  which 
Chancellor  Crichton,  the  fox,  and  Tutor  Livingston,  the 
Queen  Mother's  fat  spaniel,  had  given  my  brothers 
William  and  David  within  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh. 

And  at  this  rebuke  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and 
pouted,  like  the  spoilt  child  I  was  at  that  time.  God  wot, 
I   learned  to  behave   better  afterwards. 

"  Well,  since  it  must  be — so  must  it  be !  "  I  said  sigh- 
ing, "but  (I  say  it  twice)  I  had  rather  have  wedded 
with  yourself,   Larry  !  " 

He  turned  on  me,  white  this  time,  not  red — yes,  blue- 
white  as  the  little  shadows  that  sunshine  makes  behind 
snow-wreaths.  (Oh,  I  love  to  see  a  man  moved  like 
that.) 

"For  God's  sake,  girl,  have  ye  no  pity?"  he  cried, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  brow — a  gesture  which  his  father 
also  had  when  perplexed — "  if  ye  say  the  like  again,  I  will 
1  will !  " 

"Aye,  and  what  will  ye  do  then?"  said  I,  mocking  his 
Galloway  accent,  which  showed  itself  whenever  he  was 
excited.  "Will  ye  refuse  me  your  reverence's  blessing? 
Na,  surely  never !  Or  aiblins  would  ye  smite  a  poor  lass, 
that  never  did  ye  harm,  with  the  Greater  Excom- 
munication ?  " 

Larry  turned  away  without  speaking,  and  that  made  me 
a  little  sorry.  But  ah,  the  inward  happiness  to  be  among 
men  again  after  two  years !  Yet  even  then  I  did  not 
know  the  power  which  had  come  to  me  during  these 
years,  nor  yet  the  good  that  all  the  greyhound  fare  of 
the  convent  had  done  me.  In  a  word,  I  was  just 
beginning  to  learn  what  I  could  do  with  the  hearts  of 
men. 

And  there  is  nothing  like  that  to  a  woman !  In  her 
heart,  carefully  covered  over,  maybe — to  be  dug  for  deep 
and    long,    but    still    there — indisputable,    unobtrusive, 


ONE  LEG  GREEN  AND  ONE  LEG  PINK     13 

there  is  the  same  desire  to  everyone  of  womankind. 
Bah — they  tell  you  different,  some  of  them,  but  they  lie. 
To  be  beautiful  and  to  turn  men  between  their  fingers 
this  way  and  that,  as  a  potter  doth  a  vessel,  moulding 
it  to  his  thought.  That  is  the  Thing  Desired  of  tke  Heart 
— the  princesshood,  the  queen's  sceptre.  All  else,  as  I, 
who  have  tried  all,  do  know — housewifery,  maternity, 
charity,  the  life  conventual,  the  chatter  of  a  court,  the 
mistressing  of  a  great  house — are,  as  the  folk  say  in 
Galloway,  but  a  "  do-no-better  " !  And,  indeed,  among 
such  men  as  I  have  known — Douglases  of  the  Black  and 
of  the  Red,  Stewarts  with  the  bitter,  murderous  Bruce 
blood  in  them — what  better  can  a  woman  do? 

Well,  it  is  past  for  me  now,  and  yet  I  can  warm  my 
heart  at  the  fires  of  the  past — yea,  to  this  very  day  I  chew 
the  pleasant  cud  of  memory.  It  was  not  all  dust  and 
ashes,  as  the  priests  say ;  it  has  not  all  turned  to  apples 
of  Sodom,  and  the  taste  is  not  as  of  bitter  ashes  in  my 
mouth.  Still,  even  in  old  age,  I  judge  that  this  is  the 
second  best  thing  which  can  happen  to  a  woman — that 
she  should  have  been  beautiful  in  her  youth,  or,  at  least, 
by  some  quirk  or  trick  of  tongue  or  face  or  manner, 
witching,  and  capable  of  making  herself  desired. 

I  say  that  is  the  second  best  thing  in  a  woman's  life. 
The  absolute  best,  the  gold  centre  of  all,  is  that  during 
her  love  time  she  should  have  known  one  man  good, 
and  true,  and  great.  Then  only  can  she  wholly  forget 
self  in  another,  which  is  a  woman's  heaven  of  heavens. 


CHAPTER  III 

COUR    CHEVERNEY 

So  to  Cour  Cheverney  we  went,  the  fat-faced  goodman 
with  the  pouting-  Hps  and  the  unsteady  Florentine  eyes 
leading  the  way.  The  fields,  how  fine  they  smelt — 
hawthorn,  red  and  white,  single-flower  and  double- 
flower,  on  every  tree !  The  hedgerows — as  in  the  Gallo- 
way of  my  childhood,  there  are  hedgerows  in  Touraine 
— full  of  red  pimpernel  and  blue  hyacinth,  and  with  the 
yellow  broom  they  named  the  kings  after  peeping  over 
everywhere,  while  stone-chats,  ox-eyes,  and  other  small 
birds  went  swaying  on  the  thin  fishing-rod  branches. 

Ah,  it  was  greatly  good !  Better  still,  to  see  the  white 
convent  walls  that  had  held  me  so  long  sink  behind  the 
tall  trees,  which  shut  in  also  Sister  Eulalie  and  her 
bread-and-water.  To  Cour  Cheverney — yes,  we  were 
going.  At  the  risk  of  I  know  not  what  dread  penalty,  I 
had  looked  across  at  the  tall  tower,  a  clifif  of  mason- 
work,  higher  than  Thrieve  by  a  score  of  feet,  though 
not  so  massive  and  square  in  shape,  from  the  perilous 
top  of  the  gardener's  ladder. 

Now  I  was  to  see  it  nearer  at  hand.  The  Abbot  Lau- 
rence, in  the  pride  of  his  ambassadorial  office,  rode 
beside  the  Mother  Superior,  while  the  Sieur  Paul  smiled 
over  his  shoulder  at  them  both.  It  may  be  well  under- 
stood that  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  Laurence  on  my 
pony,  Varlet.  Now  Varlet  was  specially  wicked  and 
restive,  because  he  had  been  most  insufficiently  exercised 
by  Monsieur  the  Almoner  of  the  Convent.  For  the 
Abbe  Berre,  our  good  father  confessor,  was  not  a  little 
afraid  of  Varlet's  hoofs  and  teeth.  But  as  for  me,  I  had 
no  fear,  and  I  specially  wished  to  know  all  that  Larry 
had  to  tell,  before  we  arrived  at  Cour  Cheverney.  For  I 
did  not  know  how  we  might  be  lodged  there,  nor  what 

14 


COUR   CHEVERNEY  15 

chance  there  would  be  of  my  having  speech  with  my 
ancient  playmate  in   that  great  place. 

"  Tell  me  first  how  all  goes  at  home,"  I  bade  him  ; 
"  they  have  settled  you  as  Abbot  comfortably  at  Sweet- 
heart Abbey — so  much  I  know.  None  shall  vex  you 
there.  So  at  least  I  bade  them,  and  so  Cousin  Will 
promised !  " 

For  I,  too,  could  make  myself  great  upon  occasion. 

"  Oh,  well  enough,"  he  said,  a  little  indifferently. 
Then,  recollecting  who  had  given  him  his  preferment, 
he  added  quickly,  "  And  indeed  I  am  grateful,  since  no 
better  may  be.  But  the  sword  and  not  the  psalm-book 
was  my  proper  calling." 

"  Time  was  when  you  were  of  the  contrary  opinion," 
I  said ;  "  tell  me — for  once  I  will  confess  you — who  is 
she?" 

But  he  denied.     There  was  nothing  and  no  one. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  he,  "  a  man  may  sometimes  lift 
his  eyes  and  see  the  moon !  "  I 

"  Yes,"  I  retorted  on  him,  fast  as  words  can  follow; 
words,  "  true,  but  only  a  baby  will  cry  for  it !  "  1 

"  Then  I  am,  I  fear  me,  a  gross  pagan,"  he  said  as 
swiftly,  "  for  I  worship  her !  "  j 

"  That  is  bad,"  I  said,  "  and  most  inconsistent  in  a  man 
who  must  spend  his  life  in  swaddling  and  wet-nursing 
two-score  such  sturdy  Endymions  as  the  fathers  of 
Dulce  Cor.  How  do  you  manage  it?  The  Slave  of  the 
Lamp  could  not  serve  them  all !  " 

"  Oh,  easily  enough,"  Laurence  made  answer ;  "  I  am 
(let  us  say)  Abbot  of  Sweetheart.  So  far,  well — but 
again  better,  I  might  have  been  the  captain  of  a  company, 
a  soldier  with  m'en-at-arms  under  him,  like  Sholto,  my 
brother — Sir  Sholto,  if  you  please,  with  his  little 
regiment  of  five  children !  Still  there  remains  to  me 
the  Abbey  of  Sweetheart.  From  chapel  to  refectory, 
from  dormitory  to  pantler's  cellarage,  I  conceive  it  as  a 
barracks.  The  soldiers  therein  observe  the  Order  of 
Citeaux,  and,  indeed,  not  St.  Bernard  himself  could  be 
firmer  or  stricter — in  all,  that  is,  which  concerns  the  keep- 
ing of  that  Rule  by  others.    But  for  myself — well,  there 


i6  MAY    MARGARET 

are  monks  who,  as  it  were,  are  eunuchs  for  the  Kingdom's 
sake.  But  for  myself — no !  I  am  only  one  set  in 
authority  over  monks.  You  complain  of  bread-and- 
water  at  St.  Brigida's,  but  at  Sweetheart,  my  dear  lady, 
I  can  do  no  more  and  better,  and  no  man  raise  his  voice 
to  pipe  a  "  What  dost  thou  ?  " 

I  changed  the  subject,  for  the  grey  towers  of  Cour 
Cheverney  grew  nearer  apace. 

"  And  what  of  William  and  James — and  the  lads  ? 
Are  they  at  Thrieve?     Tell  me!" 

For  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  speak  of  my  cousin 
William,  as  Earl  of  Douglas — at  least  not  yet,  still  less 
as  my  husband ! 

Laurence  gave  a  little  hitch  to  his  mule's  bridle.  Of 
white  leathern  thongs,  it  was,  curiously  plaited.  Then  he 
bent  over  to  the  side  away  from  me,  as  if  something 
there  claimed  his  attention.  Ever  since  his  arrival  he 
had  had  these  strange  habits,  I  had  not  observed  them  in 
him  before ;  but  perhaps  that  was  because  I  was  growing 
older,  and  so  noticed  more.     So  I  thought,  at  any  rate. 

Then  Larry  pointed  to  the  soaring  keep  and  the  grey 
flanking  towers  of  the  Cour  Cheverney.^ 

"  Yonder,"  he  said,  with  a  little  bitter  smile  which  I 
understood  not  then ;  "  they  are  both  yonder,  my  Lord 
William  and  my  Lord  James..  Do  you  think  that  a  young 
wooer  hot  upon  his  love-making,  and  the  brother,  the 
friend  of  the  bridegroom,  he  who  is  to  stand  by  and  see 
his  jov,  will  be  far  away  when  the  bride  is  brought 
home?" 

Then  a  sudden  terror  seized  me. 

*'  I  will  not  be  married  like  this,  here  and  now,"  I 
cried ;  "  signed  for,  taken  from  custody,  guarded, 
delivered,  and  the  note  acquitted — I,  Margaret  Douglas, 
that  am  Princess  of  Galloway,  and  but  eighteen  years  of 
age !  " 

And  without  a  word  more  I  set  spurs  in  Varlet,  and 

'  Let  none  go  to  look  for  them !  The  present  Chateau  of 
Cheverney  is  altogether  modern — Versailles  in  a  nutshell,  while 
■every  trace  of  the  ancient  strength  has  passed  away. 


COUR    CHEVERNEY  17 

turned  him  about  towards  the  woods.  The  King  was  at 
Amboise — Charles,  the  King  of  France,  I  mean.  He 
would  do  me  justice.  He  would  make  me  a  maid-of- 
honour  in  his  court.  That  would  be  easy.  There  was 
great  need  of  such.  I  had  heard  the  Bald  Cat  say  so 
more  than  once — Sister  Eulalie  too ! 

Then  what  a  dance  I  led  that  cavalcade.  I  laugh  now 
when  I  think  of  it.  Off  his  saddle  Larry  could  have 
caught  me  easily,  having  the  gift  of  the  fleet  foot.  Aye, 
I  will  wager  if  he  had  been  in  training,  and  in  his  hose 
and  jerkin,  he  could  have  winded  even  Varlet  over  a  long 
course.  But,  as  it  was,  he  sat  there  grinning  impotently 
on  a  churchman's  mule.  He  was  full  of  the  good  beef 
and  wine  of  Devorgilla's  Abbey — though  indeed  neither 
showed  in  his  profile,  fine  as  that  of  a  graven  statue. 
Worst  of  all,  he  was  swathed  in  bandages  ecclesiastical, 
cope  and  soutane  and  mantle,  or  whatever  these  half-men 
please  to  call  them. 

As  for  me,  I  made  a  good  start,  and  went  through  the 
cavalcade  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

Inwardly  laughing,  I  could  hear  the  din  of  pursuit  thin 
out  and  grow  silent  behind  me,  as  I  urged  Varlet  onward 
faster  and  always  faster.  It  is  easy  to  get  away  from  a 
lot  of  monks  and  a  few  knights  and  esquires  heavily  clad 
in  armour — that  is,  with  a  good  horse  between  one's 
knees  and  a  well-pointed  spur  of  silver  on  either  heel. 

Amboise  it  was  I  was  bound  for — nothing  less.  I  did 
not  know  the  way  to  Amboise  very  exactly,  but  I  had 
heard  that  it  lay  away  to  the  west,  down  the  valley,  and 
someone  had  told  me  that  by  hard  riding  one  could  reach 
it  by  nightfall.  The  king  would  be  glad  to  see  me — of 
that  I  made  no  doubt.  And  in  so  much,  at  least,  I  made 
no  mistake. 

But  as  I  galloped  on  my  spirits  rose  at  leaving  Will  of 
Avondale,  my  cousin,  behind,  together  with  the  hateful 
thought  of  being  dragged  from  a  convent  only  to  be 
married.  I  was  not  really  dragged,  but  no  matter — 
that  was  the  way  I  liked  to  think  about  it  then. 

And  I  thought  also,  that  if  I  could  only  have  gone  back 
to  play  with  Larry  about  the  braes  of  Boreland,  crossing 


i8  MAY   MARGARET 

over  in  a  boat  from  the  Thrieve  when  it  pleased  us.  I 
should  have  been  perfectly  happy.  I  did  not  want  to  be 
married,  at  least  not  so  soon,  and  have  done  with  girl- 
hood before  I  had  ever  tasted  it,  and — and — well,  not  to 
have  my  own  choosing  of  a  husband,  as  Maud  Lindsay 
had  when  she  married  Sholto.  Even  if  I  could  have  had 
the  pick  of  the  Avondale  brothers,  all  set  out  in  a  row — 
William,  James,  Archibald,  Hugh,  and  little  John — that 
would  not  have  seemed  so  bad.  At  least,  it  would  have 
been  fun  to  see  them.  Then  I  might  not  have  run  off 
like  this.  But  to  marry  a  sober-sides  like  William 
Douglas,  whom  everyone  (of  the  Douglas  faction)  said 
was  the  best  and  wisest  person  in  the  world,  and  who 
looked  as  if  he  stuffed  himself  with  smithy  filings,  wore 
buckram  next  his  skin,  and  went  to  bed  in  complete 
armour  with  his  head  pillowed  on  the  family  tree!  Ciel! 
How  I  gritted  my  teeth,  set  my  heels  into  Varlet,  and 
longed  for  the  towers  of  Amboise  to  rise  above  the  dwarf 
aspens  and  pollard  poplars  by  the  brook-sides,  which  seam 
all  sweet  Touraine  as  the  Garden  of  France  slopes  gently 
to  the  Loire — like  some  gracious  woman  lying  asleep, 
and  smiling  in  a  pleasant  dream. 

But  the  valley,  which  at  first  had  been  but  as  a  dimple  on 
a  smooth  fair  skin — deepened  into  a  lirk  between  two 
hills,  narrowed  into  a  gorge,  and  then — in  a  moment  I 
came  upon  the  little  river  (called  the  Cosson),  which  for 
a  long  distance  runs  a  race  with  the  Loire  ere  it  decides 
to  join  forces  with  it.  Had  I  mounted  the  brae  again 
and  kept  the  crown  of  the  land,  I  had  gotten  easily 
enough  to  Ambroise  (though  the  way  was  far),  but  in 
my  ears  I  seemed  to  hear  the  shouting  of  the  enemy 
behind  me — of  my  pursuers,  I  mean.  And  there,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  the  water  lying  green  and  deep  beneath 
me. 

Howsomever  I  was  on  the  point  of  riding  Varlet  at  it  on 
the  chance  that  he  could  swim  (and,  indeed,  the  feat  itself 
is  no  great  matter),  when  all  of  a  sudden  there  burst  a 
young  man  out  of  some  green  bracken  and  elderberry 
bushes  by  the  bank  of  the  river. 

He  was  a  tall,  ruddy  youth  of  weight  and  brawn,  with 


COUR   CHEVERNEY  19 

eyes  constantly  laughing-,  and  as  he  came,  methought  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  something  white — the  flutter  of  a 
neckerchief  or  a  kilted  petticoat  behke,  in  the  thicket  out 
of  which  he  came. 

He  ran  alongside  Varlet  for  a  step  or  two,  calling  names 
to  him  (speaking  all  the  while  like  one  who  has  a  way 
with  horses  and  women).  Then  with  a  short,  sharp 
grasp  at  the  bridle,  he  brought  him  up  all  panting  upon 
the  very  brink  of  the  river. 

Then  the  splendid  young  man  took  off  his  bonnet,  which 
was  of  blue,  light  and  clear,  and  had  a  white  band  and 
tassel.  A  white  plume  of  some  foreign  bird  was  set  in 
the  side. 

"  I  am  happy,  most  happy  to  serve  you,  most  noble 
young  lady !  "  he  said  in  French  that  was  a  little  tashed 
with  disuse,  yet  which  had  obviously  proved  sufficient  for 
its  owner's  purposes,  as  witness  that  flutter  of  jupe  among 
the  bracken.  But  as  for  me,  I  answered  him  in  Scots. 
For  I  knew  him  at  the  first  glint.  They  do  not  breed 
such  acreages  of  flesh  and  bone,  nor  yet  cover  them  with 
such  milk-white  skin,  in  the  land  of  France. 

"  Jamie,  lad,  my  guid  cozin,"  I  cried,  "  gang  back  an' 
finish  oot  your  half-cut  rig!  Or  ye  will  keep  a  grudge 
again   puir  wee  Marget  a'  the  days  o'  your  life !  " 

He  stood  still,  fastened  with  embarrassment,  and  then 
threw  up  his  hands  with  a  long  whistle. 

"The  Fair  Maid  o'  Galloway!"  he  said,  as  if  stiff- 
stricken.  "  Certes,  lass,  but  ye  are  grown  indeed — and 
bonny  as  the  day.  Gie  your  kinsman  a  kiss  for  stop- 
ping that  reckless  galloper  o'  yours  at  the  peril  o'  his 
neck ! " 

But  though  at  another  time — well — I  had  been  glad 
enough  to  kiss  Larry  (and  he  not  my  cousin,  but  a  plain 
blacksmith's  son),  I  refused  him. 

"  Na,  na,  Jamie  Douglas,"  I  cried  daffingly.  "  Gang 
back  yonder  where  ye  cam  frae.  Ye  will  conquest  mair 
than  the  braw  French  tongue,  I  am  thinkin' !  Fish  and 
cranes  and  wild  fowl  bide  in  the  marshes,  I  hae  heard,  and 
I  ken  ye  were  aye  a  braw  sportsman.  But  as  for  the 
cozinly   kiss — let   me   gie   ye    ae   advice.     And    that    is: 


20  MAY    MARGARET 

Never  ye  mix  the  white  wine  and  the  black,  lad !  They 
gang  na  weel  thegither,  Jamie,  my  coz !  " 

And  with  that  I  turned  and  left  him,  standing  "  finger  in 
his  mouth,"  as  we  say  in  Scotland.  I  even  heard  him 
mutter,  "  The  besom !  Hath  she  learned  the  like  o'  that 
in  a  convent  of  nuns  ?  " 

Then  because  James  never  wasted  anything  (his  one 
virtue!)  I  judge  that  he  took  my  advice.  For  he  went 
slowly  back  towards  the  thicket  whence  he  had  come, 
with  his  head  bent  meditatively  upon  the  ground. 

But  ere  he  went  out  of  sight,  I  stood  up  in  my  stirrups 
and  called  out  to  him,  "  Tell  me,  cozin,  where  left  you 
William  ?  " 

"  What  William?  "  said  he,  growling  rather  than  speak- 
ing over  his  shoulder. 

"  Why,"  cried  I,  "  since  when  was  there  more  than  one 
William — Will  Douglas,  that  was  once  Will  of  Avondale, 
and — my  affianced  husband  ?  " 

I  fancy  I  made  him  wince  at  that,  even  as  Larry  had 
done.  And  I  meant  to.  I  always  knew  which  men  of 
those  who  came  near  me — that  is,  three  out  of  four — 
Avould  not  like  to  hear  of  my  marrying  anyone  else. 
And  so,  in  spite  of  flags  of  truce  fluttering  from  among 
elder  thickets,  I  knew  ver\^  well  it  was  with  James. 

"  How  should  I  ken  w^here  he  bides,"  he  growled.  "  I 
have  not  a  string  tied  to  our  Will's  tail !  " 

"  No,  nor  to  your  own !  "  I  called  back  to  him ;  "  you 
rake  the  country  ovemiuch,  James !  " 

In  which  I  had  him  at  a  vantage,  for  he  answered  me 
no  more,  seeming  (as  we  say  both  in  Scots  and  French) 
sore  "  fashed  "  with  me  for  my  free  handling  of  his  pec- 
cadilloes. 

But  I  turned  my  horse's  head  and  would  have  ridden 
after  him. 

"  Where  is  Will?  "  I  cried.     "  Tell  me— or " 

I  pointed  -with  my  hand  to  the  boskage,  turning  at  the 
same  time  my  horse's  head. 

"  You  are  a  shameless  little  vixen,"  he  cried  (I  am  not 
sure  that  he  did  not  say  "  villain  ").  "  I  know  not  where 
Will  is — he  is  not  at  Cour  Cheverney,  but  where  he  may 


COUR    CHEVERNEY  21 

be  found,  by  St.  Brice,  I  know  not — making  himself 
musty  over  parchments,  and  chilling  of  his  blood  by 
drinking  cold  well-water,  I  warrant  him." 

"  Ah,  James,"  I  answered  him,  as  I  turned  away  to  meet 
Larry,  who,  meantime,  was  in  a  perfect  fume  of  anger, 
and  the  Sieur  Paul,  wholly  out  of  breath,  "  I  am  not  sure 
that  elderberry  wine,  taken  in  quantity  and  by  the  way- 
side, is  so  muckle  better  for  the  health.  It  sours  upon 
the  stomach,  my  good  cozin  James !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 


A   GOOD   FIGHT 


Now,  ever  since  I  could  run  alone  I  have  always  tried  to 
find  out  everything  for  myself,  and  to  put  my  spoon  into 
every  dish,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  seen  before. 
So,  having  easily  passed  off  my  escapade  upon  the  frisk- 
iness  of  Varlet,  and  his  having  had  no  exercise  for  weeks 
at  the  convent,  only  Larry,  who  did  not  matter  at  all, 
understanding,  I  was  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  our 
stay  at  Cour  Cheverney. 

I  had  seen  greater  things  before,  of  course ;  for  mine 
own  home  of  Castle  Thrieve  yields  to  none  in  all  the 
kingdoms  where  I  have  been,  and  I  could  recall,  though 
dimly,  those  great  days  when  my  dear  brother  William 
held  his  tourney  on  the  mead  of  Glenlochar,  the  one  that 
lasted  three  days — ah,  there  never  was  aught  finer  than 
that  in  France — no,  nor  yet  in  Italy. 

But,  then,  at  that  time  I  was  a  little  girl,  scarce  fit  to  hold 
the  train  of  the  Queen  of  Beauty,  and  Maud  Lindsay  it 
was  who  had  all  the  honours  and  all  the  eye-glancings  of 
the  younger  men.  But  now  that  has  changed,  and  I 
felt  for  the  first  time,  I  know  not  how,  that  I  could  hold 
my  own  with  a  king's  daughter. 

Moreover,  Cour  Cheverney  was  still  empty  of  my  bride- 
groom. That  was  its  chief  joy.  I  had  an  unexpected 
respite.  As  Margaret  of  Galloway  I  could  laugh  at  Will 
of  Avondale,  my  cousin,  at  his  books  and  parchments, 
the  great  schemes  in  his  head,  and  the  little  outcome  there 
had  been  of  them ;  but  as  my  bridegroom,  my  husband, 
my  master,  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  the  Duke  of  Touraine,  I 
was  not  so  sure  that  cousin  Will  would  be  such  a  laughing 
matter. 

So,  for  the  present,  Cour  Cheverney,  even  with  the 
presence  of  the  Lady  Superior,  was  to  me  highly  desir- 

22 


A    GOOD    FIGHT  23 

able:  a  means  of  furthering  my  education,  and,  by 
incident,  that  of  several  other  people  as  well. 

And  my  chief  joy  and  safety,  in  thus  completing  of  my 
education,  was  that  everyone  knew  that  I  was  so  soon  to 
be  married — by  high  pontifical  dispensation.  Papal  Bull, 
holy  cord,  and  four  pounds  of  wax  thereto  attached — not 
to  speak,  as  it  were,  of  bell,  book,  and  candle.  So  they 
might  sigh,  the  men  of  them,  that  is — but  no  one  could 
think  (no,  not  for  a  moment)  that  I  meant  any  harm. 
Indeed,  I  never  did,  and  said  so  frequently  when  the  harm 
came. 

Now  Cour  Cheverney  was  of  itself  a  pleasant  place. 
The  Sieur  Paul,  a  rich  man,  had  recently  had  it  put  in 
repair.  The  chambers  he  had  decorated  with  tapestry 
from  Paris.  The  higher  windows  were  widened,  and 
balconies  thrust  out  from  the  thickness  of  the  wall.  The 
courtyard  was  set  about  with  a  bordering  of  flowers. 
Bravest  of  all  was  a  great  Judas  tree,  with  purple 
blossoms  close  set  upon  its  branches,  which  cast  a  shade 
along  the  left  side  of  the  Court,  opposite  to  the  great  hall 
and  the  men's  apartments.  I  asked  the  Sieur  Paul  to 
have  a  bench  put  there,  and  I  went  often  to  that  place 
of  a  sunny  afternoon  with  my  broidery — to  be  quiet  and 
think. 

But  the  strange  thing  was  that  I  scarcely  got  five 
minutes  of  meditation,  and  as  for  the  solitude  which  I  had 
come  there  to  seek — why,  first  came  one  and  then  another, 
my  faith,  past  believing !     The  place  was  like  a  fair. 

There  was  Laurence,  who,  being  a  prelate,  or,  at  least, 
having  the  powers  of  one,  could  not  go  a-hunting.  Yet, 
because  I  said  once,  to  try  him,  that  he  was  of  no  more 
use  than  to  bide  at  home  with  the  maids,  he  took  to 
fishing,  and  made  infinite  work  with  his  tackle,  sitting 
beside  me  on  that  same  seat.  I  never  heard  whether  he 
landed  anything — from  the  river,  I  mean.  At  the  seat  he 
certainly  did  not.  So  I  mourned  with  him  over  his  ill 
success,  and  when  James  Douglas  came  down  in  yet 
another  new  purple  vest,  with  gold  buttons  and  long 
sleeves  of  silk,  I  told  him  of  the  little  progress  that  Larry 
was  making  in  the  art  of  fishing  with  the  angle,  inno- 


24  MAY   MARGARET 

cently  inquiring  if  he  did  not  think  that  with  a  rod  of 
elder  and  a  busking  of  white  jupon,  our  fisherman  might 
try  the  banks  of  the  Closson  with  better  success. 

"  These  French  troutlets  are  shy.  They  have  been  tried 
so  often  before,"  I  said.  "  You  can  ask  my  Lord  James 
as  to  the  bait  he  is  wont  to  use !  " 

Then  Larry,  knowing  that  James  and  I  had  some  secret 
between  us,  would  grow  all  of  a  sulk,  and,  bundling  his 
things  together,  take  leave  of  us  upon  the  instant.  At 
which  James,  making  a  little  face  behind  his  back,  would 
sit  down  beside  me,  while  the  Sieur  Paul  went  a-prome- 
nading  along  the  other  side  of  the  court  with  the  Bald  Cat 
upon  his  arm.  She  had  discovered  that  on  the  maternal 
side  he  could  claim  to  be  a  cousin  ten  times  removed  (if 
not  more)  of  her  family.  And  as  he  was  also  kin  to  the 
great,  and  possessed  a  castle  like  Cour  Cheverney,  the 
wise  Mother  Superior  had  no  objections  to  the  alliance, 
in  spite  of  the  "  bar  sinister  "  which,  like  an  oriflamme,  he 
flaunted  athwart  his  back. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  frequent  of  our  ploys  to  dance  in 
the  courtyard  of  an  evening.  James  could  not  dance 
well.  He  was  too  big  of  bone,  and  too  fair.  Only  dark 
men  dance  well.  But  he  would  snatch  angrily  at  the 
strings  of  his  doublet  and  kick  at  the  house  dogs  as  they 
slunk  uneasily  along  the  selvage  of  the  flagged  square, 
apprehensive  of  so  many  heels  all  going  to  a  measure. 
Then  he  would  affirm  loudly  that,  thank  heaven,  only 
fools  and  cropped  poodles  could  dance,  that  as  for  himself 
the  "  deil  may  care,  but  he,  James  Douglas,  cared  no 
jot ! " 

All  which  was,  as  one  might  say,  meat  to  the  hungry. 
And  specially  to  me  who  had  been  two  long  years  in  a 
convent,  with  Sister  Eulalie  tugging  all  the  time  at  the 
tail  of  one's  gown !  Well,  I  have  heard  speak  a  great 
deal  of  Paradise.  And  it  may  all  be  true.  But  at 
eighteen  one  does  not  hunger  after  such  doubtful 
exchanges.  Cour  Cheverney  and  the  dance  beneath  the 
Judas  tree  were  good  enough  for  me. 

Then  Larry,  who  had  a  vast  amount  of  music  in  his 
fingers  as  well  as  in  his  toes,  and  could  play  any  instru- 


A   GOOD    FIGHT  25 

« 

ment  from  an  organ  to  a  five-stringed  guiterne  or  a  mouth 
flute — by  sheer  wit,  as  it  were  and  without  learning,  used 
to  play  for  us.  At  first  it  was  all  solemn-sounding  tunes 
on  the  great  harp — after  which,  perhaps,  low  sweet 
harmonies  on  the  psalterion.  Then,  as  he  warmed  to  his 
work,  I,  who  knew  him  and  saw  the  ichor  mounting, 
would  hand  him  a  viol  silently  and  hush  the  company 
with  my  hand.  For,  if  left  alone,  they  were  bound  to 
hear  a  marvellous  thing. 

Then  would  he  sing,  accompanying  himself,  like  the 
carolling  lark  on  the  first  day  of  May,  in  such  a  voice  as 
never  was  heard  save  in  the  sky,  till  he  would  bring  the 
very  tears  to  our  eyes,  and  set  us  to  the  sobbing  for  no 
reason  at  all.  Songs  of  lost  love  he  would  sing,  of 
desolate  low  shores  and  maids  yet  more  desolate.  Sadder 
and  sadder  the  ballad  would  grow,  till,  with  a  sudden 
fling  of  the  elbow  through  his  embroidered  robe,  Larry 
would  dash  into  some  mirthful  lilt  of  old  Scottish  song, 
all  marriage-making  and  happiness,  with  white-mutched 
crones  nodding  heads  at  their  gossip,  and  goodmen 
chaffering  in  the  market-place. 

As  he  played  he  grew  fixed  and  lost,  this  daft  Larry 
of  ours,  whom  fate  and  the  Douglases  had  made  an  abbot, 
and  the  ambassador  of  another  man's  wooing.  And 
though  there  was  a  shaven  patch  the  size  of  a  clipped 
ducat  on  his  crown,  I  wot  well  the  curls  clustered  so 
fair  and  maidenly  about  his  brow,  that,  had  he  not  worn 
breeches  (or  whatever  holy  men  wear  underneath  their 
soutanes)  the  Bald  Cat  would  have  had  them  shorn  by 
the  roots  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Then,  of  course,  at  Cour  Chevemey,  there  were  other 
exploits.  Great  brawny  James  was  all  for  the  tourney- 
ing, and  (also  of  course)  at  that,  among  the  country  lords 
and  Knights-of-the-Green-Fields,  easily  bore  the  gree. 
But  Bevis  Roland,  the  renegade  Englishman,  as  easily 
beat  him  at  the  archery,  which  at  least  was  exceedingly 
good  for  our  brisk  Jamie's  soul.  But  again  at  riding  and 
hunting  and  also  at  the  horse-leaping,  my  Lord  James 
Douglas  could  give  a  long  start  to  all  the  company — 
an  it  were  not  Larry,  who,  being  a  clerk  on  a  white  mule, 


26  MAY   MARGARET 

a  cross  on  his  breast,  and  a  mitre  on  his  head,  could  not 
for  very  shame,  compete  with  him.  But  he  stood  behind 
me,  gritting  his  teeth  and  groaning  in  his  spirit. 

"  I  could  beat  him,"  he  said,  "  'fore  the  Lord  I  could 
beat  him  at  all  but  the  jousting.  And  as  for  that  bag- 
swagging  Englisher,  Bevis  Roland,  I  could  shoot  three 
in  the  white  to  his  one,  for  sixty  golden  crowns !  If  I 
could  not,  may  the  devil  change  me  into  a  kailstock. 
Yet  here  I  must  stand  like  a  draff-sack  set  upright.  God 
rest  my  soul  for  it  in  the  day  of  need !  It  is  much  to  put 
up  with  for  the  sake  of  religion ! 

Then,  the  devil  he  had  imprecated  entering  into  me,  I 
encouraged  him  to  cast  his  robe,  his  cope  and  soutane, 
and  to  it  in  his  hose  and  shirt.  And  by  my  fey,  the  mad 
wight  would  have  done  it  in  a  twinkling.  He  had  the 
heavy  mantle  half  off  his  shoulder,  when  suddenly  he 
caught  sight  of  the  great  golden  cross  upon  it,  all 
wrought  in  thread  as  thick  as  wire. 

Then  some  thought  of  his  calling,  as  I  hope,  or  shame  of 
the  people  about  him — as  I  fear — caused  Larry  to  halt, 
and  with  a  sigh  he  drew  his  cope  again  about  him.  But 
when  I  had  egged  him  on  a  little  further  (the  devil  or  one 
of  his  imps  still  possessing  me),  he  turned  upon  me  and 
said  in  Scots,  "  Mistress  Meg,  art  a  naughty  wench ! 
And  if  thou  dost  not  mend  thy  manners,  wilt  come  to  no 
good !  I  ken  what  means  thy  trokings  under  the  Judas 
tree  yonder,  thy  botched  broiderings  and  sudden  eye- 
liftings,  thy  seats  set  in  the  shade  of  an  afternoon " 

"  Concerning  which,  good  lad,"  I  retorted,  "  you,  holy 
Father  Larry,  of  a  certainty  ought  to  know,  for  you  sit 
there  more  than  any  !  Aye,  and  hold  thread  for  the  wind- 
ing, too,  between  these  same  thrice-blessed  abbatical 
fingers!  Pax  vobiscum!  Retro  me!  Requiescat  in 
pace! " 

And  that  being  all  my  stock  of  Latin,  I  made  to  bless 
him  backwards  in  sport,  which  angered  him  curiously. 

"  Ah,  that  I  were  your  father,"  he  murmured,  low  and 
bitter  in  mine  ear,  "  or  your  mother,  aye — or  even  the 
Abbess  of  St.  Brigida  two  days  agone !  There  are  some 
rules  of  that  Order  which  would  suit  you !  " 


A   GOOD    FIGHT  27 

"  Well,  what  would  happen  then,  most  reverend  prior 
of  the  bare  chin  ?  "  I  demanded. 

Larry  said  nothing  in  words,  but  his  fingers  itched 
visibly  to  box  my  ears — or  for  aught  I  know,  more  and 
worse. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  occupations  and  the  new 
joyance  of  freedom  which  had  come  to  me,  the  Sieur  Paul 
promised  other  entertainment.  He  was,  I  think,  some 
little  piqued  that  our  big  James  had  so  easily  borne  his 
point  against  the  gentlemen  of  Touraine.  So  said  he  one 
morning,  when  we  were  all  at  gossip  under  the  Judas 
tree,  "  Messire  James,  my  good  Lord,  there  are  none  of 
your  mettle  here,  but  over  yonder  at  Loches  with  the 
Dauphin  there  are  one  or  two  knights  of  another  web — 
La  Hire  and  the  younger  Dunois — good  lances  and  stout 
hearts.  How  will  you  like  it  if  I  send  for  them,  make  a 
fete  day  at  Cour  Cheverney,  and  see  if  you  can  break  a 
lance  with  them  as  deftly  as  with  us  poor  laggard  oafs  of 
the  Provinces?  " 

"  Faith,  I  would  like  it  greatly,"  said  James,  "  I  ask  no 
better!" 

And  to  me,  turning  his  head,  he  said  in  Scots,  "Cousin 
Marget,  ye  will  see  me  whammle  them !  "  Which  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  he  would  make  them  all  bite  the  dust. 

For  that  was  our  James,  root  and  branch  of  him — ready, 
self-confident,  never  blate,  everyway  large,  hectoring, 
easy  of  manner,  quick  as  a  touch  to  draw  on  a  gentleman, 
swinge  a  burgher,  or  drink  pewter  for  pewter  with  a 
beggar.  He  never  dreamed  that  he  could  fail  in  any- 
thing.    Nor  for  that  matter  (to  tell  the  truth),  did  I ! 

Well,  they  came.  And  I  sat  on  a  fine  crimson-draped 
balcony  which  had  been  fastened  out  on  struts  from  two 
lower  windows  of  the  keep.  For  (having  none  other) 
the  Sieur  Paul  had  perforce  to  make  me  Queen  of 
Beauty,  and  as  for  James,  he  thought,  as  usual,  that  he 
had  naught  else  to  do  but  lift  the  jewel — a  black  diamond 
circled  all  about  with  points  of  brilliants  and  sapphires — 
which  certainly  would  have  become  me  excellently.  So 
I  hoped  he  would  win. 

The  company  arrived.     There  were  knights  on  splendid 


28  MAY    MARGARET 

horses,  the  like  of  which  I  have  never  seen  in  Scotland 
(except  the  noble  black,  which  had  belonged  to  William, 
my  dear  young  brother,  who  was  so  treacherously  slain  at 
Edinburgh  by  Chancellor  Livingston  and  the  sneaking 
gutter-hound  Crichton. 

There  was  Dunois,  the  younger,  a  tall,  dark  man,  quiet 
and  lissom,  a  velvety  glitter  in  the  eyes  of  him  like  a 
wandering  Egyptian,  with  La  Hire,  a  smart,  grey-headed 
man  of  fifty,  stout-backed,  and  with  a  long  upper  lip,  also 
with  little  to  say  for  himself.  To  them  add  the  Count  des 
Baux  and  Henri  de  Cayades,  light,  alert  men  of  the 
South,  Provengal  through  all  their  veins,  both  born  within 
sight  of  the  castle  of  good  Roi  Rene,  and  both  as  full  of 
talk  and  apt  to  love  as  a  willow  bole  is  of  sap  in  the 
springtime. 

Ultimately  to  these  were  added  a  slight,  brown  man  with 
shifty  eyes,  with  an  ill-kept  steel  capote  on  his  head,  and, 
believe  it  who  will,  a  rosary  about  his  neck  like  the  Bald 
Cat  herself;  and,  last  of  all,  a  tall,  dark  man,  of  whom, 
however,  I  caught  but  one  glimpse  disappearing  into  the 
stables  to  arm  himself,  for  lie  had  ridden  over  light,  his 
armament  having  been  sent  from  Loches  with  a  groom. 

There  were  banners  hung  from  all  the  windows  of 
Cour  Cheverney  and  the  air  of  a  fete  day  everywhere. 
The  very  grooms  and  varlets  of  the  stable  were  alert  and 
active,  with  ribbons  in  their  caps  and  fresh  straws  in  their 
mouths. 

Outside  the  newly  set-up  barriers  there  was  a  great 
press  of  the  commons,  with  spearmen  to  tread  upon  their 
bare  toes  with  mail-clad  feet,  and  in  case  of  need  to 
stamp  out  a  due  and  respectful  space  behind  the  barriers 
with  the  butts  of  their  lances. 

Of  our  house  party  there  came  first,  of  course,  James 
Douglas,  my  cousin,  who  must  always  gallant  it  in  the 
forefront.  Then  came  the  Sieur  Paul,  most  like  an 
apple  dumpling  done  in  steel  plate  and  a  helmet  with 
plumes,  but  yet,  so  they  affirmed,  able  to  swing  a  good 
sword  and  grip  a  stout  lance  in  his  day.  One  of  these 
last  only  he  was  to  break.  Then  there  was  one  who, 
though  amongst  the  party  of  Cour  Cheverney,  and  fight- 


A   GOOD    FIGHT  29 

ing  in  a  borrowed  suit  of  plate  with  the  "  bar  sinister  " 
of  Herault  de  Douglas,  had  requested  that  his  name 
should  not  be  made  known. 

We  of  Cour  Cheverney,  being  for  the  most  part  clerks 
and  squires,  had  hard  work  to  muster  man  for  man. 
And,  indeed,  even  with  the  young  man  of  the  Golden  Bar, 
we  were  two  men  short,  till  there  rode  up  another,  the 
dark  man  I  had  seen  disappearing  in  the  stables. 
Through  his  banner-bearer  he  declared  his  readiness  to 
fight  upon  the  side  of  Cour  Cheverney — which,  when  he 
had  ranged  himself  with  James,  the  Sieur  Paul,  and  the 
young  man  of  the  Bar  Sinister,  gave  us  four  to  their  four. 

It  was  a  good  fight.  Dunois  and  James  broke  four 
lances  each  and  still  held  it  even,  which  was  little  to  the 
liking  or  expectation  of  either  at  the  first  shock.  The 
Sieur  Paul  "  keeled  "  over  and  lay  like  an  egg  of  Pasch, 
fallen  on  his  back,  feebly  swaying  his  arms  and  calling 
to  all  and  sundry  to  hasten — that  he  was  being  choked 
in  his  armour.  He  had  encountered  La  Hire.  And 
though  that  stout-backed  Samaritan  tried  to  save  him  all 
he  could,  the  shock  of  meeting  so  famous  a  lance  was 
doubtless  severe.  Bar  Sinister  and  our  Succouring 
Knight  lent  us  from  the  other  side,  had  both  conquered 
their  men,  without  even  breaking  their  own  lances,  and 
the  grooms  were  catching  the  runaway  horses  and  setting 
the  armed  men  back  in  the  saddle.  Towers  of  glistening 
metal  they  looked  from  my  high  bank  of  crimson  cloth, 
and  being  men  of  the  Midi,  they  spat  out  curses  at  their 
ill-fortune — the  Count  des  Baux  blaming  De  Cayades  for 
riding  across  him,  and  De  Cayades  telling  Des  Baux  of 
various  places  more  or  less  discomfortable,  to  which  an 
it  pleased  him  he  could  immediately  ride.  Whereupon 
Des  Baux  said  they  could  settle  the  matter  elsewhere. 

Crash  went  the  arms  again,  and  La  Hire,  having 
opposed  himself  to  the  Succouring  Knight  who  had  rein- 
forced the  party  of  Cour  Cheverney,  overbore  him  and 
he  went  heavily  to  the  ground.  On  the  other  hand  James 
succeeded  this  time  with  Dunois,  and  his  spear  breaking, 
the  brave  young  Frenchman  was  soon  on  the  ground, 
cr)ang  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Praise  to  St.  Denis  that  my 


30  MAY    MARGARET 

father  is  not  here  to  see !  "  Upon  which,  James  erected 
his  lance  as  if  to  conquer  Dunois  were  the  simplest  thing 
in  the  world,  and  rode  again  to  the  top  of  the  lists.  The 
Count  des  Baux  and  Henri  de  Cayades  had  rushed 
together  upon  the  Knight  of  the  Bar  Sinister,  but  he, 
lightly  reining  his  steed,  had  let  them  both  pass  him  and 
crash  heavily  into  each  other  like  two  ships  in  a  strong 
sea,  manoeuvring  too  narrowly  for  the  fairway. 

A  shout  arose  at  his  dexterity,  and  the  little  shifty-eyed 
man  rushed  into  the  arena  and  spoke  some  words  to  the 
fallen  knights,  which  seemed  to  be  ill-enough  taken. 

At  last  La  Hire  and  James  Douglas  came  to  it.  They 
had  met  once  before,  and  James,  solely  through  self- 
confidence  and  lack  of  caution,  had  been  overthrown. 
But  this  time  our  James  made  no  mistakes.  The  prize 
was  too  high — a  ring,  a  bird,  and  a  kiss  from  the  Queen 
of  Beauty — as  it  is  writ  in  the  poem  of  chivalry : 

"  Un  cygne  qui  el  pre  sera, 
Et  si  vons  di  qu'il  baisera 
La  pucelle  de  Landcmore " 


La  Hire  went  down  before  the  Douglas  brawn  and  beef 
and  bone.  Porridge  to  breakfast  and  Martinmas  cow  to 
dinner  for  some  score  of  years  had  done  their  w^ork. 
Truth  to  tell.  La  Hire  came  at  it  with  wonderful  finesse, 
but  the  weight  of  man  and  horse  bore  him  down.  After 
this  neither  Henri  de  Cayades  nor  the  Count  des  Baux 
was  ready  for  the  fray  against  the  conqueror  of  La  Hire 
and  the  young  Dunois.  The  Knight  of  the  Bar  Sinister 
had  mysteriously  disappeared,  and  James  rode  round  the 
lists  like  one  vaunting  himself,  as  indeed  he  never  could 
help  doing  all  his  life,  specially  under  the  eyes  of  women. 
He  had  taken  his  new  lance,  with  the  pennon  which  had 
been  carefully  kept  rolled  until  now  by  his  standard 
bearer,  and,  with  a  bow  in  my  direction,  he  gave  it  to 
the  wind.  The  "  transfixed  heart "  of  the  Douglases 
flapped  out  bravely,  together  with  the  red  and  gold  on  his 
horse's  trappings.  He  set  his  visor  up,  and  as  I  told  him 
afterwards,  no  cock  on  his  own  midden-head  strutted 
ever  more  proudly  than  James  Douglas  that  day. 


A    GOOD    FIGHT  31 

Oh,  yes ;  and  I  liked  him  for  it.  It  was  a  great  deal  to 
me  to  know  that  he  loved  me,  and  had  done  all  that  for 
my  sake. 

But  when  it  came  the  turn  of  the  victor  to  receive  the 
chaplet,  the  swan,  and  the  kiss,  James  had  his  headgear 
removed  in  his  tent  and  came  forth  presently,  looking  tall 
and  personable  in  a  close-fitting  suit  with  a  golden  tab- 
ard back  and  front.  Then,  according  to  custom,  the 
beaten  men  had  to  unhelm  also  and  see  him  receive  the 
prize. 

The  Sieur  Paul  led  them  on,  smiling  and  bowing  to  all 
about.  He  had  his  head  wrapped  up  in  a  napkin  as  if 
for  a  deadly  wound,  but  the  good-humoured  ironic  cheer- 
ing of  the  populace  told  that  they  understood  other  of  it. 
Then  came  La  Hire  and  Dunois,  looking  as  if  they  had 
swallowed  each  a  tankard  of  vinegar  in  lieu  of  good  red 
wine.  Lastly,  the  two  men  of  the  Midi,  laughing, 
chattering,  and  jesting  with  an  air  which  said  plainly  that 
it  would  be  their  turn  next  time.  There  was  one  other, 
the  Succouring  Knight,  who  had  taken  the  side  of  Cour 
Cheverney,  and  after  winning  once  had  gone  down  before 
La  Hire.  He  came  up  a  little  late,  and  at  the  very  time 
when  I  was  occupied  in  setting  the  chaplet  of  laurel  on 
the  head  of  the  victor.  Then,  tossing  the  swan  among 
the  commons  to  be  scrambled  for,  James  bent  over  and 
took  his  legal  kiss  from  my  lips  in  the  fashion  prescribed 
and  established  by  a  hundred  courts  of  love. 

Perhaps  he  was  unwontedly  long  about  it.  For  the 
next  thing  I  knew  was  the  tall,  dark  Succouring  Knight, 
he  who  had  obstinately  kept  his  visor  down  even  when 
he  stood  among  the  vanquished,  laying  his  hand  upon 
my  arm. 

"  Margaret !  "  he  said  quietly. 

And  then  I  knew  him  for  my  cousin  William,  the  man 
with  whom  I  was  to  wed.  I  shuddered  and  caught  my 
breath — as  I  do  now,  even  as  I  write. 

"  And  one  for  me !  "  be  said.  "  I  have  come  far  to 
get  it." 

Now  I  know  not  what  it  was  that  made  me  perverse 
that  moment.     A  kiss  was  nothing,  yet  I  would  not. 


32  MAY    MARGARET 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  it  is  not  your  right  here  in  this  place, 
but  James's !  " 

I  think  he  sighed. 

"  Tiien  a  kiss  by  favour?"  he  said. 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  you  must  win  a  tournament 
first !  " 

"  I  will  win  all  Scotland  for  you,"  he  said.  "  As  for  this 
cracking  of  lances — it  is  but  hammer-and-anvil  play !  " 

"  Ah,  but  then  you  cannot  do  it,"  I  retorted  upon  him, 
"  and  James  can  !  " 

And  the  victor  of  the  combat  stood  preening  himself 
behind  his  brother,  and,  I  doubt  not,  trowing  himself  the 
greatest  and  the  strongest  man  in  Christendom. 

But  William  Douglas  went  away  softly  without  speak- 
ing another  word. 


CHAPTER    V 

FURRY    EARS 

Ah,  these  days  at  Cour  Cheverney !  How  I  loved  the 
valley  of  the  Loire  and  the  little  feeding  rivers  which 
would  have  been  great  ones  anywhere  else,  but  which 
shrank  to  brooklets  in  the  presence  of  that  mighty  water 
going  shining  down  the  valley  like  a  procession. 

And  then,  seeing  that  she  could  do  no  more,  and,  it  may 
be,  jealous  for  the  good  name  of  her  convent — fearful 
also  of  what  the  kittenish  minettes  of  whom  she  had  been 
put  in  charge  might  have  done  in  her  absence,  the  Lady 
Superior  took  her  departure. 

I  could  have  danced !  Indeed,  I  did — borrowing  a  pike 
from  a  yeoman  of  the  Sieur  Paul's  guard,  sticking  it  in 
the  ground  and  tying  ribbons  to  it  as  for  a  May-pole,  till 
the  very  men  in  the  lodge  'neath  the  portcullis  laughed, 
and  even  William  Douglas  deigned  to  smile  from  the 
window  of  the  library. 

But  I  must  tell  about  the  shabby  little  man  with  the  ill- 
brushed  clothes  and  the  side-dagger,  or  coupe-gorge,  in 
his  belt.  I  hated  him  at  first,  yet  withal  there  was  a 
curious  fascination  about  him. 

Not  that,  indeed,  which  a  man  may  have  for  a  woman, 
but  something  disgustful  and  hardly  full  human.  I 
think,  if  I  had  been  married  to  such  a  thing  I  should  have 
been  tempted  to  use  his  coupe-gorge  upon  himself — 
when  he  was  asleep.  Then  the  very  way  he  had  of 
looking  at  me  made  me  uncomfortable.  And  he  looked 
long  and  often. 

One  day  we  sat  in  the  pleasant  court.  The  Judas  Tree 
began  to  throw  down  its  blossoms.  A  vagrant  wind 
sprang  up,  making  a  pleasant  biding  sound  among  the 
leaves  above.  The  little  man — "  ill-put-on  "  as  we  say — 
was  not  long  in  coming  across  to  me.  It  appeared  that 
he  had  something  particular  to  say. 

33 


34  MAY    MARGARET 

"  By  your  leave  I  will  present  myself,"  he  said,  "  since 
there  is  none  that  will  do  the  work  for  me.  I  am  called 
Louis  de  Valois — concerning  whom,  from  his  insigniii- 
cance,  you  may  not  have  heard !  " 

"  De  Valois,"  said  I,  somewhat  astonished ;  "  why,  then, 
you  are  of  the  Royal  House?  " 

"  His  Majesty's  poor  relation,"  he  said  carelessly, 
"  some  kin  to  royalty — I  forget  what — if  anyone  ever 
knew !  " 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked  him,  for  it  was 
not  my  way  to  beat  about  the  bush.  "  The  King  has 
surely  not  sent  you  also  on  a  mission  to  Rome  ?  " 

A  bitter  smile  wreathed  his  lips  at  some  thought  of  his 
own. 

"  No,"  he  said  slowly,  dragging  the  words  as  if  by 
force  out  of  him,  "  nor  does  he  go  there  himself — though 
he  has  much  need,  aye — all  the  way  upon  his  knees." 

"You  mean ?" 

"  It  is  not  for  little  girls  out  of  convents  to  be  told  what 
I  mean,"  he  said  somewhat  rudely,  yet  as  if  speaking 
unwillingly.     But  I  had  the  word  for  him. 

"  You  mean  because  he  has  so  badly  brought  up  his 
son,  the  Dauphin — whom  all  the  world  speaks  ill  of? 
Or  because  of ?" 

"  Tell  me,  does  all  the  world  speak  ill  of  the  Dauphin  ?  " 
said  the  little  man  with  the  yellow-brown  eyes,  looking 
up  sharply  at  me. 

"  My  faith,"  I  said,  "  I  am  in  France.  I  cannot  abuse 
the  king's  son  to  his  own  cousin.  All  cousins,  you  know, 
love  one  another.  But.  true  it  is  that  I  have  heard  in  the 
convent  that  the  Dauphin  is  a  bad  man,  and  that  he  was 
right  cruel  to  my  kinswoman  and  countrywoman, 
Margaret  of  Scotland." 

"  As  for  me,"  he  answered,  "  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  have, 
indeed,  no  great  opinion  of  the  man  myself,  but  betwixt 
a  man  and  a  woman  wedded,  who  can  judge  from  the 
outside  of  the  wall?  " 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  there  may  be  something  in  that. 
I  myself  have  heard  that  she  hath  a  fondness  for  poets  I 
Now  the  Dauphin  is  certainly  no  poet." 


FURRY   EARS  35 

The  yellow  eyes  glimmered  with  cat-like  streaks,  like 
melting  snow  on  a  mountain  top.  The  king's  poor  rela- 
tion made  a  chuckling,  hollow  noise  in  his  throat.  He 
had  a  sense  of  humour,  a  thing  highly  undesirable  in 
poor  relations. 

"  Ah,  belike,"  he  said,  "  but,  at  any  rate,  it  is  not  a 
predilection  which  you  share,  my  dear  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Oh,  poets !  "  I  said  to  him,  "  they  are  doubtless  very 
well  in  their  place " 

"  And  that  place  is ?  " 

"  Below  the  salt  and  in  company  with  the  Merry- 
Andrew  !  " 

He  laughed,  and  then  said,  half  meditatively,  "  And  you 
are  from  the  land  of  the  Scots.  I  wish  I  had  known  in 
time,  then  I  would  not  have  married  the  daughter  of  a 
poet !  " 

"  Your  father-in-law  was  one  ?  "  I  demanded,  really 
careless  whether  he  answered  me  or  no. 

"  He  was,"  he  answered,  "  writing  English — well  or 
ill  I  know  not.     It  is  a  poor  trade.     Poets  die  young !  " 

He  thought  a  while,  and  then  said,  "  Your  father,  he 
was,  I  judge,  no  verse  maker,  nor  any  great  scholar?  " 

"  He  could  sign  his  name  if  you  gave  him  time,"  I 
said.  "  He  was  the  Earl  of  Douglas  and  Duke  of 
Touraine !  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  better,"  he  said,  his  light  cat's  eyes  glinting 
rapidly  over  my  face,  and  taking  in  the  least  detail  of 
my  dress,  almost  like  a  jealous  woman  who  thinks  you 
may  prove  prettier  than  she,  "  you  have  certainly  most 
just  views  upon  poetry  and  poets.  I  trust  you  think 
better  of  priests  and  religion  ?  " 

'*  Have  I  not  come  direct  from  a  convent?"  I  asked 
him,  smiling  as  demurely  as  I  could,  "  and,  besides,  has 
not  the  Pope  sent  a  Bull  all  the  way  from  Rome  to 
enable  me  to  marry  a  man  I  have  scarce  looked  upon  all 
my  days?  Have  I  not,  therefore,  cause  to  think  well 
of  holy  men  ?  " 

"  Religion  has  ever  been  my  safeguard,"  he  said  shaking 
his  head  gravely  at  my  tone,  "  particularly  this  part  of  the 
blessed  goad  wherewith  St.  Joseph  pricked  the  ass  on  the 


S6  MAY    MARGARET 

night  of  the  flight  into  Eg}'pt.  It  is  a  reHc  beyond  price 
and  very  efficacious.  I  had  it  from  the  shrine  of  St. 
Marthe  in  Provence  !  " 

And  he  took  out  of  his  cap  a  piece  of  worm-eaten  wood, 
pointed  with  iron.  The  cap  was  certainly  curious  in 
itself,  having  a  peak  almost  like  a  mountebank's,  with 
little  furry  pockets  at  the  sides  (though  it  was  summer) 
exactly  as  if  the  wearer  had  no  ears  at  all!  He 
continued : 

"  The  cure  of  St.  Marthe  had  it  from  a  pilgrim,  who  gat 
it  directly  from  a  wanderer  on  the  beach  at  Askelon ; " 
he  continued,  "  it  has  averted  evil  from  me  more  than 
once  and  brought  great  harm  to  my  enemies — being  (by 
a  most  curious  device)  made  hollow,  and  so  arranged  as 
to  contain  a  precious  powder !  " 

We  were  talking  thus  when  William  Douglas  came  up 
and  saluted  the  little  man  with  more  deference  than  I  had 
ever  seen  him  pay  to  anyone  in  all  my  life — which,  to 
tell  the  truth,  was  not  much.  Then  came  James  and 
bowed  himself  to  the  ground.  But  that  also  meant  little. 
For  such  was  our  brave  Jamie's  way,  being,  as  he  said,  a 
younger  son  with  his  way  to  make  in  the  world. 

But  Laurence  stood  apart  and  appeared  to  meditate. 
There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Then  the  furry-eared 
little  man,  who  had  called  himself  the  king's  poor  relation, 
turned  sharp  upon  William  Douglas. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  if  you  have  no  objections.  I  will 
take  your  bride  here  and  the  Pope's  Bull  along  with  her. 
You  can  have  mine  in  exchange.  She  is  a  king's 
daughter." 

William  Douglas  surveyed  the  speaker  with  the  same 
gaze,  quiet  and  steady,  with  which  he  took  in  all  the 
world. 

"  Prince,"  he  answered,  "  if  this  be  a  jest,  it  is  a  poor 
one,  and  on  a  subject  upon  which,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
it  is  ill  jesting  with  a  Douglas.  We  rude  Scots  do  not 
understand  the  game  as  it  is  played  in  the  palaces  and 
chateaux  of  France.  An  evil  might  therefore  easily 
befall." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  little  man  sharply,  "  you  should  go  to 


FURRY   EARS  37 

Amboise  and  my  father  would  teach  you  right  will- 
ingly." 

"  Is  he  a  poet,  too?"  I  asked,  wishing  to  put  a  better 
face  on  the  matter,  "  as  you  told  me  your  father-in-law 
was?" 

At  this  I  saw  them  all  start,  and  James  gave  a  sort  of 
gasp  of  apprehension.  I  knew  I  had  said  something  I 
ought  not.  But  what  it  was — or  why  they  were  aghast, 
I  declare  I  knew  no  more  than  the  Bald  Cat — who  was 
by  this  time  snoring  in  her  cell  at  St.  Brigida's. 

But  the  furry-eared  man  only  smiled  indulgently,  and 
patted  the  back  of  my  hand,  which  I  instantly  snatched 
away  from  him. 

"  I  have  had  a  most  interesting  conversation  with  this 
little  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  felt  the  time  go  so  fast 
for  many  a  day.  Nay  truly,  dear  lady,  my  father  is  no 
poet,  any  more  than  was  thine.  Yet  he  carries  about  him 
rather  more  of  the  raw  material  of  poets'  rhymings  than 
is  quite  convenient  for  the  world  and  for  me !  " 

And  at  this  the  Sieur  Paul  laughed  with  much  good 
humour  as  at  a  jest  which  he  alone  understood.  But  the 
little  man  with  the  unwashen  face  turned  upon  him 
with  his  hand  on  his  dagger, 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  your  house,  but  had  it  been 
elsewhere  I  should  have  set  this  a  hand's-breadth  deep  in 
your  belly  for  daring  to  laugh  at  the  King  of  France !  " 

I  think  I  felt  much  sympathy  for  the  small  pottle- 
shaped  man  who,  from  a  simple  desire  to  please,  had 
crossed  the  chance  tempers  of  this  little  impish  moldiwort. 

"  The  Dauphin  of  France !  "  I  cried  aloud.  "  My  faith, 
and  I  took  you  for  the  King's  cellarman  out  for  the  day, 
and  blinking  in  the  sunshine !  " 

"  But  I  told  you,"  said  he,  not  at  all  losing  his  temper, 
"  that  my  name  was  Louis  de  Valois.  Do  the 'maidens  of 
Scotland  never  put  two  and  two  together  ?  " 

"  Pshaw ! "  I  cried,  resolved  that  at  least  he  should  not 
intimidate  me — not  if  he  were  the  Grand  Bashaw  of  all 
the  Turks,  "at  home  our  cat  is  named  Badrons  de 
Douglas,  our  goat  Billy  de  Douglas.  Eight  and  twenty 
Crummie  Douglases  come  to  Thrieve  every  Martinmas  to 


38  MAY    MARGARET 

fill  the  beef  tub  for  the  men-at-arms.  There  are  pecks 
and  pecks  of  Border  Douglases,  and  Ettrick  Douglases, 
and  Highland  Douglases,  and  Angus  Douglases,  and  Dal- 
keith Douglases,  There  be  Douglases  of  the  Red  and 
of  the  Black — and  surely  I  may  be  held  excused  if  I 
knew  not  that  there  might  not  be  another  Louis  de  Valois 
in  the  world  besides  the  son  of  the  King  of  France !  " 

I  had  very  nearly  added  "  And  such  a  king's  son !  "  But 
I  could  see  James  shaping  his  lips  to  warn  me  to  have  a 
care,  while  Will  looked  on,  hard  and  cold  as  ever.  I 
thought  that  he  disapproved  of  my  flippancy,  and  that 
only  made  me  the  more  reckless.  I  would  show  him  that 
it  was  somewhat  too  soon  to  put  on  the  airs  of  a  husband. 

"  Will,"  said  I,  "  marriage  begins  with  love-making. 
Love-making  begins  with  writing  verses.  If  I  am  to 
marry  you — if  you  expect  me  to  love  you,  go  make  me 
some !  James  there  can  turn  them  oflf  by  the  barrelful — 
in  French  or  in  Scots — carols,  ballads,  rhymes  royal  or 
sermons  in  verse — he  has  them  all  at  his  finger-ends !  " 

But  Will,  my  cousin,  only  smiled  tolerantly. 

"  There  is  other  work  in  the  world  than  stringing 
rhymes !  "  he  said.  "  The  Dauphin  and  I  have  two  lands 
to  win  from  the  Old  to  the  New." 

There  was  always  something  of  the  preaching  friar 
about  William,  which  I  resented.  It  sounded  like  the 
Almoner  of  St.  Brigida's  on  Holy  Thursday. 

So  I  caught  him  up  sharply.  *'  Aye,  Will,  is  it  indeed 
so?  Then  let  me  tell  you  and  his  Highness  the  Dauphin 
one  thing — nay,  two.  There  is  one  thing,  very  old,  that 
no  one  of  you  shall  ever  win,  and  that  is  a  woman's  love ! 
Also,  one  thing,  very  new,  which  neither  one  of  you  shall 
ever  experience — the  love  of  young  children,  thrusting 
their  faces  into  your  beards  and  shouting  at  your 
incoming !  "" 

"  So?"  said  William  Douglas,  his  face  firm  and  a  little 
more  hard  than  before.  "  Well,  I  can  but  do  my  duty. 
But  I  will  try  for  the  other  things  too," 

And  he  turned  away,  leaving  me  with  a  question 
pricking  at  my  heart. 

Then  came  James,  in  his  dark  blue  velvet  and  laced 


FURRY   EARS  39 

doublet,  looking  like  a  great  blonde  god  who  had  strayed 
out  of  some  old-time  temple.  He  had  heard  that  which 
had  passed ;  for  he  leaned  over  the  great  black  oak  settle 
and  touched  my  hair  gently  with  his  fingers.  He  had  all 
sorts  of  ways  like  that,  yet  so  done  that  one  could  not 
take   offence. 

"  Will  is  wrong,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  must  forgive  him. 
He  is  all  set  on  this  new-fangled  setting  of  things  right 
in  Scotland.  He  threeps  it  down  our  throats  that  we  are 
all  barbarians,  and  I  dare  say  he  speaks  truth.  He  says 
Scotland — highland,  lowland,  and  borderland — needs  one 
strong  man  to  put  down  the  raiding  and  rieving  and 
thieving.  Furthermore,  that  James  Stewart  is  not  that 
man.  You  can  guess  who  is — in  my  brother  Will'^ 
esteem !  " 

I  gazed  at  him  in  utter  surprise.  He  nodded  softly,  and 
like  one  who  makes  an  assured  confidence. 

"  William  Douglas  zuoiild  make  himself  king — king  of 
Scotland! " 

James  smiled,  and  continued  to  stroke  my  hair,  gently 
and  abstractedly  (for  the  others  had  gone  away,  and  we 
were  now  alone).     I  did  not  reprove  him;  I  could  not. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  murmured.  "  And  you  will  forgive 
him,  therefore,  if  he  has  small  time  for  love  and  the  light 
concerns  of  a  woman.  These  may  well  be  left  to  a 
younger  brother  to  console  him  for  his  meagre  portion. 
God  knows,  we  have  little  enough  to  concern  ourselves 
with,  poor  fellows — save  to  be  barbarians  and  crack 
each  other's  crowns." 

But  I  was  not  attending  to  James  very  much.  I  was 
thinking,  and  with  a  kind  of  pride,  too — the  first  I  had 
ever  felt  in  the  man  who  was  to  be  my  husband, 

"  To  be  king  of  the  Scots,"  I  thought,  and  from  James's 
consternation,  I  judge  that  I  spoke  aloud,  "  cousin  Will 
to  make  himself  the  king — to  be  greater  than  all !  That 
is  to  be  a  man  and  a  true  Douglas  of  the  Black.  Faith,  I 
would  marry  him  now,  without  Bull  or  dispensation, 
without  Pope,  priest,  or  marriage-robe — aye,  over  the 
tongs  if  need  were !  " 

After  that  James  was  silent  for  a  long  time.     Above, 


40  MAY    MARGARET 

there  was  a  constant  movement  of  leaves,  and  the  cawing 
of  jackdaws  nesting-  high  up  in  the  crevices  of  the  old 
towers  of  Cour  Cheverney.  I  could  feel  my  cousin's 
breath  on  my  neck.  It  made  me  vaguely  uneasy,  yet 
somehow  I  was  not  able  to  stir.  I  did  not  know  I  could 
feel  like  that.  I  suppose  no  woman  does  till  she  is 
tried. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured  in  my  ear,  "  you  will  marry  him, 
Margaret.  But  will  you  love  him?  Are  you  sure  of 
that  ?  " 

I  tried  to  turn  him  ofif  the  subject. 

"  Ah,"  I  said,  smiling  up  at  him  over  my  shoulder, 
"  that  is  quite  another  thing.  Surely,  when  Will  is  to  be 
a  king  and  I  am  already  a  princess,  love  is  a  super- 
fluity, a  work  of — what  is  it  the  priests  call  it — superero- 
gation? Indeed,  to  begin  with,  rather  an  impertinence 
than  otherwise.    Yet  after  all " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  James,  erect  and  waiting  for  my  con- 
clusion. 

"Love  may  come — after]"  I  said.  For  indeed,  so 
Sister  EulaHe  had  told  me,  and  the  girls  at  St.  Brigida's 
swore  to  me  that  their  mothers  loved  their  fathers,  and 
this  last  was  certainly  a  matter  to  give  one  on  the  thresh- 
old of  marriage  a  certain  confidence.  Will,  at  least, 
after  the  dark  and  "  fier  "  Douglas  type,  was  a  handsome 
man. 

Then  James  bent  down,  and,  though  I  could  not  see  him, 
I  could  feel  his  presence  near  me — another  strange  thing. 

"  Nay,  little  one,"  he  murmured  in  my  ear,  "  I  know 
you !  You  will  love  neither  the  would-be  king  of  Scots, 
nor  yet  William,  eighth  Earl  of  Douglas,  nor  yet  your 
cousin  Will.  You  are  both  of  you  too  Douglas  in  the 
bone.  One  day  you  will  love — yes — but  not  my 
brother ! " 

"  Since  when  have  you  put  on  the  robe  of  prophecy, 
good  Master  Jacob?"  I  asked  him  sharply.  "  Is  it  that 
you  would  supplant  your  brother,  or  take  away  his 
birthright,  without  even  the  customary  equivalent  of  a 
mess  of  pottage?  " 

James  Douglas  laughed. 


FURRY   EARS  41 

"  They  have  taught  you  your  Scripture  well  at  the  con- 
vent, I  can  see,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  you  would  misunder- 
stand me.  I  was  prepared  for  it.  But  you  will  see! 
Behold,  I  will  try  my  hand  at  prophecy  again.  Will 
intends  to  bring  the  realm  of  Scotland  under  his  hand. 
King  Jamie-of-the-Fiery-Face  is  a  Stewart,  and  will  die 
the  ill  death  of  all  that  brood;  but  he  is  also  a  Bruce — 
that  is  to  say,  a  murderer  from  the  first.  In  three  years, 
if  I  took  the  king's  side  in  the  strife  that  is  bound  to 
come,  I,  poor  despised  James  Douglas,  could  be  Earl  of 
Douglas  in  my  brother's  place.  But,  by  God's  truth,  I 
am  no  Jacob,  no  supplanter,  as  you  have  called  me. 
You  will  see :  there  shall  not  one  stand  to  it  more 
staunchly  in  the  Douglas  quarrel  than  your  poor  stupid 
Cousin  James,  who  can  only  sit  a  horse,  drive  a  spear, 
and  (he  hesitated  a  moment  before  adding)  make  love  to 
the  woman  he  loves  with  all  his  heart,  without  thought  or 
care  for  peoples,  nations,  kingships,  principalities,  or 
powers,  in  the  heaven  above,  the  earth  beneath,  or  the 
waters  under  the  earth." 

I  think  I  drew  a  long  breath.  I  felt  light  as  a  feather, 
his  lips  on  the  nape  of  my  neck,  and,  looking  upward 
with  a  start  and  a  shudder  as  if  someone  had  trod  upon 
my  grave,  I  saw  William  Douglas  silently  pacing  the 
rampart  above  us,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  and  a 
stern  expression  on  his  face. 

Had  he  seen,  or  was  he  only  debating  in  his  mind  the 
chances  of  his  great  and  final  cast — the  dicer's  throw 
which  was  to  make  or  mar — the  project  which  was  to  him 
more  than  love,  more  than  life,  and  a  thousand  times 
more  than  Margaret  Douglas? 

I  could  not  tell. 


CHAPTER     VI 

WILLIAM     DOUGLAS     SPEAKS 

Until  one  day  by  the  little  brook  which  they  call  the 
river  of  Cheverney,  William  Douglas  had  never  spoken 
to  me  of  our  marriage.  But  ere  we  were  set  out  from  the 
castle  I  knew  it  was  coming.  There  had  been  breakfast 
as  usual  in  the  great  hall,  and  much  chatter  among  the 
ambassador's  suite  of  the  wonders  they  had  seen  at 
Rome — Laurence  alone  brooding  apart  in  silence  or  only 
responding  in  monosyllables  when  I  spoke  to  him. 

But  that  I  wondered  not  at.  For  I  had  a  sense  of  the 
stage  at  which  the  young  man  found  himself.  And  (it 
is  not  a  shameful  confession  for  an  old  woman  to  make, 
who  has  gotten  through  the  world  with  perhaps  more 
credit  than  she  has  deserved)  I  was  glad  of  it,  and  in  my 
heart  I  laughed  at  his  sulks.  Of  James,  who  sat  and 
watched  me  (like  a  hungry  cat,  as  I  told  him),  I  was  not 
so  sure.  One  was  never  quite  sure  what  James  might 
.  not  do  where  a  woman  was  concerned.  I  think  even 
then,  I  was  more  than  a  little  afraid  of  his  power  over 
me.  I  liked  the  days  when  he  went  a-hunting,  and  yet 
they  were  lonely  days  too. 

As  for  William  he  had  sat  talking  with  the  Dauphin, 
whose  shifty  eyes,  webbed  with  a  spider's  criss-cross  of 
fire,  like  hot  metal  caked  and  cracking  in  the  cooling, 
dwelt  ever  and  anon  upon  me.  How  I  hated  snakes  and 
Dauphins  !     Ugh  !     And  still  do  hate  ! 

Nevertheless,  through  all  the  hither  and  thither  of  their 
talk  concerning  Absolute  Right,  and  the  Supremacy  of 
one  man — the  Strong  Man,  the  man  with  mind,  the  man 
who  could  use  all  weapons  and  was  ready  to  employ  them 
— there  came  to  me  in  wafts  and  glimpses,  through  I 
know  not  what  senses  (for  a  woman  has  at  least  a  dozen, 
as  compared  with  men's  ordinary  five),  the  knowledge, 

42 


WILLIAM    DOUGLAS    SPEAKS  43 

net  and  fixed,  tliat  to-day,  before  it  should  be  the  stroke 
of  noon,  ere  the  earliest  flowers  should  droop  and  close, 
I  should  see  through  a  glass  darkly  into  the  soul  of 
William  Douglas,  the  man  who  was  to  be  my  husband. 

And,  indeed,  that  was  all  I  succeeded  in  obtaining — 
then,  or  for  many  years  after.  I  see  more  clearly  now. 
But  such  seeing  comes  to  women,  for  the  most  part, 
when  it  is  too  late. 

It  was  in  this  fashion  that  he  asked  me  to  walk  with  him. 
How  differently  would  James  have  done  it!  Even  Lau- 
rence, poor  fellow ! 

"  Dear  Cousin  Margaret,"  he  began,  coming  over  to  me 
before  all  the  others  (figure  what  his  upbringing  must 
have  been  when,  at  four-and-twenty — and  to  all  appear- 
ance of  mind  and  body  ten  years  older — William  Douglas 
could  yet  show  himself  so  inept!).  Why,  a  scholar 
from  a  priests'  day-school  had  done  better — that  is,  if  it 
had  been  a  French  school.  I  remember — but  no,  I  had 
b^gun  to  tell  of  my  going  out  to  walk  in  the  fields  with 
my  cousin  William. 

August  in  Galloway,  May  in  Touraine,  These  are  to 
me  the  height  of  earthly  beauty,  and  whatever  bliss  can 
proceed  from  flowers  and  woods,  from  sun-speckled 
riverine  paths  and  breadths  of  heather  lands,  across  which 
great  whale-backed  cloud-shadows  drift,  lumberingly  yet 
silently,  as  if  they,  too,  were  labouring  wains  drawn  by 
the  white  celestial  oxen. 

It  was  Laurence,  I  think,  and  partly,  also,  my  own 
liking,  which  taught  me  to  observe  things  like  that,  but 
mostly — honour  to  whom  honour  ! — it  was  Laurence. 
Not  in  the  least  Maud  Lindsay,  who,  indeed,  cared  more 
to  lift  her  eyelashes  at  a  well-favoured  man  than  to  look 
upon  all  the  sunsets  which  had  ever  been  painted  athwart 
the  west.  Nor  yet  did  I  learn  the  trick  from  Sholto, 
who  never  had  a  thought  except  for  Maud  Lindsay — that 
is,  till  the  children  came,  when  he  became  a  nursery 
packhorse,  and  went  on  all  fours.  James  Douglas  only 
admired  such  things  because  I  did,  and  William  not  at 
all,  whether  or  no. 

Nevertheless,  we  went  our  way,  he  and  I,  I,  at  least,  in 


44  MAY    MARGARET 

no  wise  keen,  nor  expecting  much  pleasure  therefrom. 
So  we  went  by  a  pretty  woodland  path  within  the 
enclosure  of  the  Sieur  Paul,  which  I  had  discovered  (and 
in  part  trodden)  during  the  days  I  had  already  spent  in 
Cour  Cheverney.  Sometimes  I  took  with  me  Larry,  in 
guise  of  adviser  spiritual,  but  more  often  James,  my 
younger  cousin.  For  you  see,  William  was  always  too 
busy  talking  politics  with  the  Dauphin.  Indeed,  Louis 
de  Valois  seemed  to  have  come  hither  from  Loches  for  no 
other  purpose. 

But  this  day,  as  I  walked  by  Will's  side,  I  glanced  up 
at  his  grave,  dark-bearded  face — the  face  of  a  man  of 
forty  at  the  least — and  the  weight  of  care  that  I  saw  there 
seemed  to  communicate  itself  at  once  to  my  heart  and 
my  heels.  I  had  on  pretty  shoes,  the  same  which  James, 
with  a  forethought  beyond  most  young  men,  had  brought 
me  from  Paris.  He  told  me  how  he  had  kept  one  of  my 
old  ones  all  the  while  as  a  gage,  wearing  it  on  his  helm 
in  time  of  fighting,  and  in  his  breast  at  other  seasons. 
Whereat  I  retorted  upon  him  that  it  was  well  these 
French  shoes  had  no  heels  like  those  of  Scotland.  Never- 
theless, in  spite  of  his  sentiment,  I  suspect  some  hidden 
troking  with  a  handmaiden  or  servant  at  the  convent.  For 
why — otherwise  he  could  never  have  hit  on  the  right  size 
and  shape.  Pmt  he  did  and  I  loved  him  for  it.  Or,  at  least, 
I  felt  it  was  one  of  the  little  things  that  most  of  all  touch 
a  girl's  heart,  and  which  not  even  the  bravest  or  the 
wisest,  or  the  best  of  lovers  can  afford  to  mislippen.  And 
he  who  walked  by  my  side  was  all  three.  Yet  for  all  that 
I  longed  to  kilt  my  coats  and  run  for  it,  just  because  he 
would  not  look  at  me  and  had  brought  me  naught  from 
Paris. 

But  I  can  tell  you  Will  Douglas's  first  words  took  me 
by  surprise. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  I  am  to  marry  you.  It  is 
arranged.  The  family  comes  first.  Neither  of  us  can 
help  it,  yet,  true  it  is,  in  this  you  have  greatly  the 
advantage  of  me." 

"  How  so?  "  said  I,  thinking  it  to  be  some  matter  of  my 
principality,  for  which  I  care  nothing,  all  Galloway  and 


WILLIAM    DOUGLAS    SPEAKS  45 

Ettrick  thereto  never  having  done  me  as  much  good  as 
an  orange  of  Italy ! 

"  Because  you  do  not  love  me,  and — I,  William  Douglas, 
have  the  ill-fortune  to  love  you." 

If  he  had  struck  me  I  could  not  have  started  back  from 
him  in  greater  amazement. 

Surely  it  was  not  William  Douglas  who  spoke  thus. 
But  even  then  he  did  not  look  once  at  me.  Faith  of  my 
heart,  what  fools  these  wise  men  be ! 

Here  was  I,  a  young  girl,  ready  to  be  loved — nay, 
plainly  eager — and  had  this  solenm  dolt  only  possessed  a 
tithe  of  James's  readiness,  all  might  have  been  different. 
We  had  stopped  at  the  place  I  had  chosen  beforehand — • 
yes,  and  tested.  It  was  a  certain  sweet  privacy  of  leaves, 
with  a  stream  running  by  over  clean-shining  pebbles,  and 
a  green  bank  to  sit  upon.  I  was  certainly  giving  the  man 
all  the  chances.  But  poor  Will,  though  such  a  don  at 
statecraft,  had  no  more  craft  in  the  matter  of  women 
than  the  armour  of  Archibald  the  Grim  set  up  in  the 
entrance   hall  of  Thrieve. 

Now  the  place  had  a  hundred  advantages.  Bees  of  all 
sorts  were  humming  about.  Glossy  purple  bees,  big  as 
hay-wains,  blundered  and  boomed.  Business-like  honey- 
bees attended  to  the  matter  in  hand,  like  the  merchants 
of  St.  Giles — furred  all  over,  too,  with  the  golden  dust  of 
pollen.  Moreover  there  were  little  black  bees,  which 
appeared  always  to  fly  backward,  starting  angrily  with 
their  weapons  out  like  touchy  braggards.  Then  round 
woolly  bees  of  the  size  of  acorns,  and  with  the  rearward 
part  all  a  fiery  red,  hustled  the  others  or  got  up  private 
quarrels  on  their  own  accounts  among  the  flowers. 

There  were  so  many  things  Will  could  have  said  in  such 
a  place,  and  I  sat  near  him  on  purpose. 

Laurence  would  have  sung  a  ballad  to  touch  your  heart, 
and  that  so  delicately,  the  birds  would  have  stopped  to 
listen,  and  with  so  accurate  and  right  an  ear  that  the  hum 
of  the  bees,  the  ripple  of  the  water,  the  hush  and  tremor 
of  the  leaves  would  all  have  mingled  in  a  fitting  accom- 
paniment. 

Others,  I  doubt  not,  would  have  done  after  their  kind, 


46  IMAY    MARGARET 

sitting  thus  alone  with  a  young-  girl,  and,  as  it  were,  with 
the  marriage  lines  in  their  pocket.  Even  silence  might 
then  ('tis  conceivable)  have  been  golden. 

But  what  did  William  Douglas  do?     This. 

Imprimis — he  betook  himself  a  foot  or  two  further  away 
from  me.  I  think  he  meant  to  give  me  room  to  sit  at  my 
ease,  and  began  to  speak  of  his  hopes  and  projects.  I  did 
not  know  then  that  was  the  greatest  compliment  he  could 
have  paid  me. 

Yet  he  never  so  much  as  took  my  hand — though,  well, 
my  hand  was  there  for  the  taking.  Of  course  it  was ! 
Since  I  was  to  marry  him,  I  thought  I  might  as  well 
make  the  best  of  it.  Afterwards  in  Italy  I  knew  a  woman 
who  would  have  had  a  man  knifed  for  less  than  Will's 
present  neglect. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  I  have  brought  you  here  (Oh, 
but  had  he?)  to  show  you  what  I  have  planned  for  my 
future  and  yours.  You  bring  me  as  your  dower  almost  a 
third  part  of  Scotland.  I  myself  possess  another  third, 
with  about  the  same  proportion  of  brave  hearts  to  follow 
our  banner  from  Galloway  in  the  south  on  through  Doug- 
lasdale  and  Marches,  northward  to  Darnaway  and 
Murray." 

I  nodded,  saying  only,  "  Have  a  care,  William,  my 
brother  had  the  like,  and  yet — in  the  flower  of  his  age — 
the  cruel  slew  him  treacherously  in  the  Castle  of  Edin- 
burgh !  " 

"  I  remember  well,"  he  said.  "  God  rest  his  soul  for  a 
good  lad !    But  then  he  was  young,  and  I  am  old " 

At  that  I  laughed  aloud. 

"  At  twenty-four  years !  Verily  a  patriarch  among 
men !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  me,  his  dark  face  never  once  light- 
ing up,  "  it  is  true  that  I  am  old.  I  it  was  who  roused  the 
Douglases  after  my  cousin's — your  brother's  murder.  I 
have  lived  hard  and  in  haste  ever  since — not  as  the  young 
live  but  as  men  do  who  have  one  business  in  life,  and 
know  not  when  death  may  be  let  loose  upon  them." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  revenge  my  brother's  death — and 
little  David's  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 


WILLIAM    DOUGLAS    SPEAKS  47 

"  Yes,  of  a  certainty,  that,"  he  said,  "  vengeance  is  a 
part  of  it.  It  shall  be  done.  I  shall  square  accounts 
with  Crichton  and  Livingston.     But,  as  it  were,  on  the 

way." 

"  The  way  to  what?  " 

"  To  the  kingdom,"  he  said  quietly,  "  the  kingdom  and 
the  power !  " 

"  You  would  rebel  and  kill  the  King !  "  I  cried,  somewhat 
affrighted  at  the  sound  of  the  words — as  was  indeed  no 
marvel,  seeing  that  I  had  just  come  from  listening  to 
nothing  more  deadly  than  the  all-day  cooing  of  the  doves 
at  St.  Brigida's. 

"  By  no  means,"  he  answered,  "  though  'tis  disputable 
if  I  have  not  at  least  as  good  a  claim  to  the  throne  of  Scot- 
land as  any  Stewart  that  ever  stepped.  But  let  that  pass. 
No,  I  count  not  on  rebellion.  But  all  the  same,  rule  I 
must.  I  shall  put  down  the  fox  and  the  sleek  poodle — 
both  of  them.  I  will  take  the  King  and  give  him  a  palace 
and  a  garden  and  (according  to  his  desires)  playthings. 
None  of  that  race  is  fit  to  rule.  They  should  have  been 
morris-dancers.  God  so  intended  it.  No,  I  will  be  James 
Stewart's  chancellor,  his  tutor,  his  Mayor  of  the  Palace. 
And  then  of  that  realm  of  Scotland  I  will  make  a  new 
thing.  Or,  by  St.  Bride  of  Douglas,  I  shall  die  before 
my  time !  " 

"  And  why  could  not  my  brother  Wilham  do  all  this,"  I 
said  ;  "  he  also  was  brave !  " 

"  I  told  you,"  he  answered  without  hesitation,  "  your 
brother  was  too  young.  He  let  himself  be  entrapped. 
And  besides,  he  had  the  mistfortune  to  love  a  bad  woman. 
/ — love  yoii." 

Then  I  took  his  hand  of  my  own  accord,  for  no  woman 
can  listen  to  words  like  these  without  a  lump  in  the  throat 
— that  is,  from  a  man  true  and  great. 

"  And  I  will  try  to  be  a  good  wife,"  I  said.  Very 
softly,  but  I  think  he  heard. 

At  that  moment  he  might  have  done  much  with  me — 
perhaps  all.  I  might  have  been  his,  soul  and  body.  But 
William  Douglas  had  not,  as  we  say  in  Scots,  "  the  airt 
o't,"  which  is  everything  (or  almost)  in  the  making  of 


48  AIAY    MARGARET 

love.  And  so  he  went  back,  like  a  man  reassured,  to 
his  weary  politics. 

"  I  have  talked  the  matter  all  over  with  the  Dauphin," 
he  said,  his  eyes  growing  dreamy  and  opaque  to  the 
world,  "  he  is  in  exactly  the  other  case.  There  is  in  his 
kingdom  One,  great  almost  as  the  Douglas  in  Scotland. 
The  Duke  of  Burgundy  is  his  Mayor  of  the  Palace,  or 
desires  to  be.  Him  he  joined  for  a  time,  even  against 
his  father,  that  he  might  learn  the  secrets  of  the  enemy. 
For  though  he  has  great  ideas,  that  young  Louis  de  Val- 
ois,  there  are  lacking  to  him  as  much  fidelity  and  con- 
stancy as  pertain  to  a  tom-cat  of  the  city  tiles.  But  all 
the  same  he  has  more  thoughts  in  his  head,  this  slippery 
Dauphin,  than  all  the  men  and  women  I  have  met  and 
talked  with  in  any  country.  He  teaches  me  much — also, 
perhaps,  I  bim.  Each  sees  in  the  other  what  he  has  to 
contend  against.  Both  learn  from  the  enemy.  For  this 
Dauphin  Louis  will  yet  gather  to  him  all  the  realm  of 
France.  See  if  he  does  not — and  be  hated  as  no  man  in 
France  has  been  hated  before  in  the  doing  of  it. 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I,  William  of  Douglas,  shall 
do  what  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  might  have  done  with  a 
weaker  sovereign.  I  shall  remain  a  subject,  and  yet  be 
the  king.  From  the  east  sea  to  the  west  sea  I  shall  stay 
the  robber  and  the  plunderer.  The  Highland  folk  will  be 
held  in  leash.  I  will  make  the  writ  with  the  king's  name 
upon  it  run  from  Kirkmaiden  to  Cape  \\Vath.  In  truth 
and  not  alone  in  proverb,  the  bracken-bush  shall  keep  the 
cow." 

He  paused  a  while  as  if  meditating.  It  was,  indeed, 
strange  talk  for  a  young  girl  to  hear,  and  I  remember  with 
a  smile  that  only  a  few  days  agone.  Sister  Eulalic  had 
been  threatening  me  with  four  days'  bread-and-water  if  I 
disobeyed  her.  And  now  the  talk  I  heard  was  of  the  dis- 
comfiture of  princes,  and  I  sat  speaking  familiarly  with 
men  who  felt  themselves  able  to  hold  nations  in  the 
hollow  of  their  hands. 

Only  I  wished  William  Douglas  had  been  a  little  more 
human  about  it.  Faith  of  my  body,  I  would  rather  have 
been  listening  to  that  muckle  cuif  James  vaunt  himself 


WILLIAM    DOUGLAS    SPEAKS  49 

about  the  girls  who  had  given  him  their  favours  to  wear 
upon  his  helm. 

"  Scotland  is  not  a  kingdom,"  Will  went  on.  "  it  is  not 
subject  to  one  King,  but  to  many.  Every  pretty  lordling 
does  that  which  is  right  in  his  own  eyes — hangs  on  his 
own  gallows-tree,  drowns  in  his  own  well,  burns  on  his 
own  woodpile,  and  if  the  king  dares  to  say  '  Yea '  or 
*  Nay,'  he  will  be  upon  his  back  in  a  trice  with  a  pack  of 
old  charters  as  musty  and  useless  as  a  cadger's  ballants, 
chattering  like  a  magpie  all  the  time. 

"  Now,  with  Galloway  mine,  and  Clydesdale  and 
Annandale  and  the  Borders  mine,  together  with  the  North 
from  Darnaway  to  Loch  Ness,  with  the  King  in  my  hands 
and  the  heads  of  the  traitors  where  such  heads  should  be, 
what  shall  hinder  but  that  I  shall  say  to  each  lord  of  a 
peel  tower,  to  each  chief  of  clan  or  sept — Do  justice,  and, 
if  you  can,  love  mercy.  But  at  least,  attend  to  the  first! 
For  if  you  do  not,  by  St.  Bride,  your  head  I  will  remove 
instead,  and  set  it  with  the  others.  For  be  assured,  my 
lords,  for  once  in  the  land  of  the  Scots  you  have  to  do 
with  a  man  of  his  word !  " 

And  as  I  listened  to  Will,  I  knew  that  I  was  to  have  a 
iua>i  for  my  husband,  and  I  daresay  many  women  would 
have  loved  him  as  indeed  he  deserved.  But  not  I.  There 
is  in  me,  somewhere,  a  spring,  like  that  of  a  secret  drawer, 
which  if  a  man  touch,  I  will  serve  him  on  bended  knee 
all  the  days  of  my  life  and  go  through  fire  and  water  for 
him  !     But  if  not — not. 

And  Will,  alas  for  us  both !  had  not  the  secret.  He  felt 
not  the  need.  For  even  as  he  went  on  talking,  his  voice 
filled  and  shook,  and — I  could  see  that  he  had  utterly 
forgotten  my  existence.  His  purpose  and  work  were  all 
to  him. 

It  is  the  last  thing  a  woman  can  bear.  She  would 
rather  be  crucified. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A    YOUNG    maid's    LOVERS 

Well,  at  any  rate,  that  was  over.  I  knew  what  I  had 
to  expect.  WilHam  had  said  that  he  loved  me.  It  was 
possible.  Nevertheless  the  signs  were  lacking — all,  at 
least  that  I  cared  about. 

Similarly,  it  is  said  to  rain  sometimes,  about  once  in 
seven  years,  in  that  desert  where  (travellers  say)  the 
pyramids  of  Egypt  look  out  across  a  world  of  sand.  But 
— for  me,  I  prefer  a  somewhat  more  human  climate.  I 
was  fated  to  marry  my  cousin  Will.  He  was  fated  to 
regenerate  Scotland  or  die  in  the  attempt.  Well,  so  be 
it!  To  Egypt  I  would  go.  But  that  would  not  hinder 
me  from  yearning  all  the  same  for  a  land  where  the  gentle 
rain  and  the  humane  dew  kept  green  at  once  the  herb 
and  the  heart  of  woman. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  glad  to  keep  out  of  William's 
way.  A  lifetime  of  the  prophet  Ezekiel  must  have  been 
trying  to  any  woman,  and  surely  every  allowance  is  to 
be  made  for  the  imperfections  of  his  wife.  Will  saw 
visions  and  dreamed  dreams,  but — I  never  came  into 
them.  I  was  not  even  a  pawn  in  the  game,  though  my 
principality  of  Galloway  was  pushed  this  way  and  that 
upon  the  board.  It  was  hard  to  bear,  and  as  often  as  I 
could  I  escaped  to  the  bench  under  the  Judas  tree — or, 
better  still,  to  the  green  bank  above  the  running  brook 
which  I  had  wasted  on  William,  and  to  which  he  never 
returned. 

I  think  I  liked  the  hours  best  when  Laurence  made  mill- 
wheels  with  a  knife,  and  the  pair  of  us  stole  off  a-tiptoe 
to  set  them  running  in  the  little  stream  which  turned  aside 
towards  the  Closson,  stealing  away  from  the  ken  of 
ungentle  men,  even  as  we  from  wars  and  rumours  of 
war. 

50 


A   YOUNG    MAID'S    LOVERS  51 

Then  I  was  truly  happy,  happier,  indeed,  than  I  was 
with  James,  who  constantly  made  me  uneasy  with  his 
reckless  ways — making  love,  as  it  were,  almost  under 
the  very  eyes  of  his  brother,  in  the  belief  that,  as  he  said, 
"  If  you  want  our  Will  to  notice  anything-,  you  must  call 
him  to  a  halt  with  a  naked  sword  at  his  breast,  and  then 
say,  '  My  lord,  dinner  waits !  '  " 

But  as  for  me,  I  had  my  idea  that  William  Douglas  saw 
more  than  our  feather-headed  Jamie  gave  him  credit  for. 

So  as  I  say,  I  was  happier  with  Laurence.  Then  it  was 
that  I  became  again  a  little  girl  as  when  I  used  to  cry 
for  Maud  Lindsay  to  play  with  me.  Only  she  never 
would  bide  long  enough,  but  would  be  for  ever  running 
up  to  the  knowe-top  to  spy  out  for  Sholto  or  some  other 
young  man.  Nevertheless  I  had  a  great  yearning  to 
see  her  again,  and  bade  Laurence  tell  me  all  that  he 
knew  about  her.  Which,  indeed,  was  little  more  than 
that  they  all  dwelt  at  Thrieve,  where  Sholto  was  captain 
of  the  guard  and,  as  ever,  the  Earl's  right  hand  man.  He 
did  not  even  know  the  names  of  Maud's  five  children — 
but  thought  that  three  were  girls  and  the  rest  boys — or 
else  the  other  way  about. 

Now,  by  St.  Jack  of  Dover,  is  there  a  woman  in  the 
world  that  would  have  been  in  the  same  uncertainty? 
Aye,  would  she  not  have  known  them,  each  one  by  head- 
mark,  their  names  and  ages  and  dispositions.  But  men 
are  like  that  all  the  world  over.  It  is  part  of  the  burden 
laid  on  them  when  they  went  forth  of  that  Gate  before 
which  the  sword  of  fire  waves  every  way. 

Laurence  used  to  take  off  his  monastic  habit  at  the 
entrance  of  the  glade,  and  in  his  laced  black  shoes  and 
hosen,  his  silken  pantaloons  to  the  knee,  and  tight-fitting 
blouse  buttoned  to  the  neck,  he  looked  (in  spite  of  his 
abbatical  dignity)  scarce  older  than  the  page-boy  who 
played  impish  tricks  about  the  Mains  of  Thrieve,  and 
was  whipped  for  it  by  Dominie  Gilston,  my  brother's 
house-chaplain — the  same  who  afterwards  married  Mary 
the  cook  and  now  keeps  a  change-house  and  place  of 
entertainment  for  travellers  in  the  market-square  of 
Dumfries. 


52  MAY    MARGARET 

Then  he  would  tell  me  tales  of  the  adventures  he  had  in 
France,  when  Maud  Lindsay  and  I  were  stolen  away  by 
the  thrice-accursed  De  Retz,  how  Sholto,  his  father,  and 
my  Lord  James  had  gone  to  seek  for  me,  because  Will 
could  not  be  spared  out  of  Scotland,  which  at  the  time 
was  all  in  an  uproar  after  the  murder  of  my  two 
brothers,  William  and  David,  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh. 

He  told  me,  too,  of  the  Lady  Sybilla,  whose  beauty  had 
led  my  brother  to  his  doom.  She  had  been  sorry,  he  said, 
when  it  was  too  late,  and  she  herself  had  been  made  to 
experience  a  far  deeper  and  more  abiding  woe  in  being 
yet  alive  somewhere  in  this  same  land  of  France. 

"  Ah,  that  I  could  meet  her,"  I  cried,  clenching  my 
hand ;  "  would  I  not  set  a  knife  in  her  heart,  the  traitress 
and  murderess !  " 

At  which  Larry  shook  his  head  and  said  gently, 
"  Margaret,  it  is  not  possible  for  any  human  being  to 
judge  another,  least  of  all  a  woman  a  woman.  She  was 
sorely  used,  poor  thing,  and  it  will  hurt  none  if  it  please 
God  to  be  good  to  her  in  the  days  to  come !  May  not  you 
also  do  likewise  without  any  great  hurt  ?  " 

For  there  was  about  Laurence  McKim  in  these  days  a 
sweet  and  pitiful  boyishness,  and  that  in  spite  of  his 
honours  more  than  semi-ecclesiastic.  At  first  I  thought 
that  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  position  was  assumed, 
and  upon  occasion  would  venture  to  rally  him  upon  it. 

"  You  are  no  right  priest,"  I  said,  to  try  him ;  "  but 
only  a  tulchan  abbot,  to  draw  tithe  milk  for  us  Douglases 
— a  lay  prior  !  \\'\\o  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing ?  Why, 
man,  you  should  join  the  king's  bodyguard,  and  I  warrant 
that  in  a  year  you  would  be  an  officer ;  or,  better  still,  our 
William  hath  great  projects  on  hand,  and  will  need  good 
men.  Come  back  with  us  to  Thricve.  After  James  and 
Sholto,  I  warrant  you  there  would  be  no  knight  like  you 
in  all  the  kingdom !  " 

"  No?"  he  queried,  pleased  with  my  saying  that;  then, 
with  a  quick  look.  "  I  thank  you,  Mistress.  At  least,  I 
came  out  of  the  fight  the  other  day  without  any  dis- 
honour— though,  as  for  me,  I  get  neither  kiss  nor 
Christian  goose ! 


>> 


A   YOUNG   MAID'S   LOVERS  55 

"  You  were  not  at  the  tourneying?  "  I  cried  in  astonish- 
ment, for  indeed  the  idea  had  never  crossed  my  mind. 
He  smiled  softly. 

"  I  wore  the  Douglas  Heart,  for  my  heart  is  Douglas," 
he  said,  "  but  with  the  Sieur  Paul's  Bar  Sinister,  to 
show  that  I  had  no  right  to  it.  But  it  is  a  secret  which  I 
trust  only  to  you.  For.  as  most  men  think,  it  is  noways- 
seemly  that  an  Abbot  of  Dulce  Cor  should  ride  a  tourney 
in  a  borrowed  coat." 

And  with  that  he  would  fall  to  the  whittling  of  his  wind- 
mills and  watermills  again,  cutting  them  out  with  a  knife 
as  daintily  as  cabinet  work,  or  the  China  art  of  inlay. 
But,  in  spite  of  this,  there  was  a  curious  constraint  upon 
us — all  the  time  that  we  were  not  playing  like  two 
children  with  puppets  and  fal-lals.  The  which  was  the 
more  remarkable  that  often  then  we  would  talk  of  the 
most  serious  subjects,  yet  always  freely  and  without 
reserve. 

For  instance,  Larry  would  tell  me,  going  on  all  the  time 
with  his  enginry,  how  Chancellor  Crichton  was  the  worst 
and  falsest  man  in  all  the  world,  and  how,  from  being  a 
small  country  laird,  without  power  and  without  apparent 
parts,  he  had  raised  himself  to  be  the  richest  and  most 
influential  man  in  Scotland. 

"But  the  Earl  William?"  I  queried,  surprised,  "what 
of  him?" 

Laurence  nodded,  a  little  sadly  as  I  thought. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  not  forgotten.  There  is 
no  one  like  him.  But  he  goes  to  work  too  straight- 
forwardly to  take  a  serpent  in  his  grasp.  A  Douglas  of 
the  Black  is  no  match  for  a  Crichton,  unless  he  first 
catch  the  serpent  between  the  prongs  of  a  forked  stick, 
and  then  grind  his  head  under  heel !  If  William  Douglas 
were  to  take  my  advice,  he  would  gather  together  all  the 
south,  besiege  Crichton  the  Fox  in  his  own  castle,  having 
taken  him  and  it,  hang  him  high  over  the  topmost  battle- 
ment, and  set  the  place  on  fire.  It  were  a  fine  counter 
roast  to  the  Black  Dinner  of  Edinburgh !  " 

I  could  not  but  laugh. 

"  Certes  that  is  very  well   said  for  a  man   of   peace, 


54  MAY    MARGARET 

Laurence,"  I  cried,  teasing-  him.  "  Assuredly  if  that  was 
the  way  you  spoke  to  the  Pope  in  Rome,  it  is  a  great 
marvel  that  his  holiness  did  not  make  you  a  cardinal !  " 

But  he  gave  little  heed  to  my  words,  thinking  solely  of 
the  terrible  days  when  my  two  brothers  were  put  down 
before  all  Scotland. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  were  then  too  young  to  remember. 
But  we — we  that  were  of  the  Douglases,  who  saw  them 
ride  gaily  through  that  gate,  with  the  Black  Bull  already 
killed  for  their  funeral  feast,  we  have  neither  forgotten 
nor  forgiven — be  we  knight  or  knave,  cottar  or  church- 
man, abbot  or  archer  !  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  forgotten  I  have  not — no,  nor  ever  will! 
But  you  think  there  is  danger  that  Will,  my  cousin,  may 
tread  the  same  road.     Why  then  do  you  not  warn  him  ?  " 

"  Warn  Will  of  Avondale !  "  he  laughed  a  little  bitterly, 
"  as  well  warn  the  tide-race  in  the  narrows  of  Solway ! 
When  William  Douglas  is  set  on  a  thing  he  will  turn 
neither  for  flood  nor  fire — not  for  God  nor  man  nor 
devil !  " 

"  Could  a  woman  turn  him,  think  you  ?  "  I  said,  more  for 
the  sake  of  saying  something  than  because  I  meant  aught 
of  serious  import.  Yet  he  took  the  question  mightily 
soberly. 

An  expression  of  the  most  tender  sympathy  and  gentle- 
ness came  over  all  his  face — sweet  and  gracious  and  yet 
somehow  very  pitiful. 

"  I  fear  not  you,  little  one !  "  he  said,  as  if  half  to  him- 
self.    "  Yes,  I  fear  greatly." 

And  I  suppose  that  I  ought  to  have  been  angr>'  with 
him  to  address  me  thus.  But  it  was  with  him  as  with 
Jamie,  though  in  another  way.  Simply  I  could  not  be 
angry  with  him.     The  thing  was  not  in  my  heart. 

Yet  it  was  all  different.  For  Laurence  never  meant  but 
to  be  the  best  and  the  dearest  of  comrades.  But  James 
— well,  ever  since  I  knew  him,  James  could  not  help 
making  love  to  mistress  or  maid.  lie  must  fulfil  his 
metier,  which  was  that  of  cadet  of  a  great  house.  And 
to  tell  the  truth,  the  thing  was  no  trouble  to  him — so  far, 
at  least,  as  I  was  concerned. 


A   YOUNG   MAID'S    LOVERS  55 

Ah,  if  men  would  only  permit  women  to  be  the  simple 
comrades  to  them  that  they  wish  to  be,  how  easy  and  how 
wholesome  the  world  would  become! 

Also,  saith  the  Wise  Man  over  my  shoulder,  how  short- 
lived !     But  of  that  I  did  not  consider  then. 

All  the  same,  there  are  few  things  dearer  to  the  heart  of 
a  woman  than  the  love,  simple  and  inexigent  as  the 
budding  of  a  flower,  which  grows  up  in  the  heart  of  a 
boy  or  of  one  who  will  all  his  life  remain  a  boy.  Of 
which  last  was  Laurence  McKim.  For  Larry,  older  than 
I  in  years,  yet  never  reached  his  majority,  though  I  have 
seen  the  white  hair  fall  thick  upon  his  shoulders,  and  but 
for  a  pair  of  pruning  shears  he  might  have  been  able  to 
tuck  his  beard  into  his  girdle. 

So  I  leave  it  to  any  who  have  such  memories,  to  bethink 
them  whether  sometimes  the  heart  within — or  what  part 
soever  of  a  woman  is  able  to  call  up,  to  the  soul  that 
dwells  behind  dimmed  eyes  and  wrinkled  skin,  the^  very 
touch  of  lips  velvet-soft  and  rose-sweet,  the  thrill  of 
beloved  voices  long  lost  to  the  outward  ear,  the  swift 
welcoming  smile  upon  faces  unseen  for  thirty  years — 
does  not  linger  upon  such  days  in  the  greenwood,  tuned 
to  the  ripple  of  waters  and  the  hum  of  bees,  when  by  my 
side  wandered  young  Laurence  who  loved  me  (albeit  a 
clerk),  with  the  purest  and  most  unselfish  love  which 
man  gives  to  woman.  Yes,  I  will  say  it,  it  is  the  best 
and  purest,  that  which  seeks  not  its  own.  But,  in  all 
fairness  let  this  be  added — it  is  seldom  the  kind  of  love 
which  pleases  a  woman  best  or  moves  her  most. 

When  he  had  fitted  his  last  cog  and  pinion,  it  was 
wonderful  to  note  how  Larry  would  leap  up  and  cry,  "  It 
is  done !     Let  us  go  together  and  see  it  grind  the  corn !  " 

And  so,  hand  in  hand,'  we  would  depart,  and  (by  the 
love  wherewith  I  have  loved  those  dearest  to  me  I  swear 
it!)  never  once  did  he  even  press  my  hand,  though 
possibly  in  my  excitement  I  may  have  pressed  his.  I  do 
not  know.  At  any  rate,  there  were  elements  of  pleasure 
about  us  somewhere,  invisible,  like  the  fairies  about  a 
spring. 

We  would  run,  I  say,  to  the  little  stream,  and,  choosing 


56  MAY    MARGARET 

a  place  where  the  trickle  descended  easily  but  not  too 
forcefully,  we  would  arrange  the  uprights,  and  set  the 
mill-wheel  a-going.  Sometimes,  also,  Larry  would  carve 
most  cunningly  contrived  little  buckets  out  of  hard  wood, 
the  which  he  fastened  to  a  wheel,  while  he  showed  me 
how  to  direct  a  little  stream  along  a  banked-up  canal  so 
that  it  would  run  freely,  and  make  what  he  called  an 
"  overshot  "  wheel.  This,  he  said,  was  the  best  sort,  and 
saved  a  great  deal  of  water ;  but  as  the  water  was  not 
ours,  at  any  rate,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it,  I  did  not  see 
the  mighty  saving. 

It  was  pretty  to  watch  him.  hastening  this  way  and  that, 
getting  his  hose  wet,  his  curling  hair  all  of  a  tangle,  his 
eyes  bright,  and  his  cheeks  red  as  those  of  any  young 
maid  waiting  at  the  trysting  tree. 

I  could  not  help  saying  to  him,  though  perhaps  I  ought 
not,  "  Larry,  you  are  certainly  a  most  distracting  boy. 
'Tis  a  world's  pity  you  are  a  monk !  " 

"  I  am  no  monk,"  he  cried  indignantly.  "  If  I  were  a 
monk,  would  I  be  here  playing  with  a  madcap  girl  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered  him ;  "  there  are  other  and 
worse  things  that  you  might  do.  And  as  to  being  a  mad- 
cap girl,  /  never  was  a  holy  abbot  with  a  cure  of  souls, 
with  carp  and  trout,  dace  and  jack,  all  in  mew  for  Sun- 
day's dinner !  Nor  yet  did  /  ever  put  on  another  man's 
coat  and  ride  a-tourneying  with  a  Pope's  Bull  in  my 
pocket !  Madcap,  indeed !  Who  may  be  the  madcap 
now  ?  " 

Of  course,  I  only  shammed  anger,  as  is  the  best  way 
with  boys — that  is,  if  you  want  to  find  out  what  is  in  their 
hearts  (which,  of  course,  you  ought  not  to  do).  With 
elder  and  more  experienced  men,  the  old-fashioned 
dropping  of  salt-water  from  the  eyes  is  still  without  a 
rival.  But  with  boys,  and,  they  say,  with  those  upon  the 
return  to  a  second  childhood,  anger  is  a  woman's  best 
weapon. 

At  any  rate  upon  this  occasion  it  was  more  than  enough. 
Never  moorland  whaup  stricken  to  the  heart  by  the 
winged  shaft  of  the  archer  from  behind  his  decoy  bush 
fell  more  cleanly  than  did  my  poor  Laurence. 


A   YOUNG   MAID'S    LOVERS  57 

"  Do  not  be  angry,"  he  pleaded  piteously.  "  Indeed  I 
meant  no  ill.  I  could  not.  For  I  love  you — yes,  I,  who 
am  but  a  blacksmith's  son  and  half  a  clerk  besides — dare 
to  love  you !  So  that  my  heart  is  like  to  be  broke  because 
I  see  you  about  to  marry  a  man  without  loving  him,  and  " 
(here  he  paused  a  long  time  as  if  still  afraid  of  my 
anger),  "  loving  another  man  without  being  able  to  marry 
him !  " 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  then  indeed  I  was  angry,  as 
anyone  may  well  believe. 

"  You  mean  James  Douglas !  "  I  cried,  taking  a  step 
back  from  him. 

Then  he  answered  very  gently — wondrously  so  indeed 
for  a  son  of  Malise  McKim.  "  God  forgive  me,  I  would 
that  I  could  say  that  I  meant  mysel !  " 


CHAPTER    VIII 

MARGARET    OF    MARGARETS 

At  that  I  was  wroth  and  with  reason.  For  who  could 
have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing — except,  as  I  said,  one 
blinded  by  monkish  ignorance  or  childish  jealousy.  Yes, 
I  was  very  angry,  and  I  am  glad  to  pass  quickly  from  the 
cruel  words  I  spoke  to  my  comrade. 

But  the  truth  is,  that  perhaps  it  was  true  that  I  had  been 
as  the  ostrich,  which  (says  Leo  Africanus)  hides  its  head 
in  a  heap  of  sand  to  escape  the  hunter.  But  it  was, 
indeed,  small  wonder  that  I  was  angry.  For  nothing 
touches  a  woman  more  than  to  be  reproved  for  that 
which,  till  that  moment,  she  thinks  no  one  but  herself 
has  perceived. 

"  I  see  it  all  now,"  I  said,  clenching  (I  am  sure,  for  I 
always  do  so)  my  hands  by  my  side  with  the  arms  stiff. 
"  You  have  learned  your  lesson  well,  Sir  Priest.  William 
Douglas  has  set  you  to  spy  upon  me,  has  he?  Well,  go 
back  to  him !  Carry  your  tale !  There  is  not  much  to 
tell.  Faith  o'  my  body,  I  wish  there  had  been  more. 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  that  you  have  been  ambassador  for 
your  patron.  Who  knows  but  he  may  have  some  further 
advancement  to  give  you  !  " 

It  was  still  with  the  utmost  gentleness  that  Laurence 
listened,  which  was  the  more  surprising,  considering 
what  a  spitfire  he  had  been  in  earlier  days,  the  days  when 
Sholto  and  he  had  flung  themselves  each  on  the  other  like 
wild  cats  till  separated  by  their  father's  waist  strap  and 
arm  of  power,  as  hath  been  told  elsewhere. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  William  Douglas  is,  indeed,  my  master 
and  the  head  of  my  clan.  But  you  know,  Margaret,  yes, 
as  well  as  I,  that  he  has  asked  nothing,  and  I  have  told 
him  nothing.  Yet  is  my  heart  sore  for  you,  my  dear, 
my  dear ! " 

58 


MARGARET   OF    MARGARETS  59 

"  You  forget  to  whom  you  speak !  "  I  said,  trying  to 
build  the  dyke  thus.  But  he  would  none  of  it.  I  had 
played  too  long  at  blindman's-buff  with  him  to  stand  of 
a  sudden  upon  my  princesshood. 

"  I  do  not  forget,"  he  said,  "  I  remember — everything. 
I  am  the  Abbot  of  Duke  Cor,  yet  I  call  you  '  my  dear.' 
You  yourself  it  was  gave  me  the  office,  yet  you  are  '  my 
dear.'  I  am  the  son  of  your  father's  armourer — a 
blacksmith,  if  you  will.  Yet,  for  all  that,  and  even 
because  of  all  that,  you  are  (I  say  it  again)  '  My  dear — 
my  dear — my  dear ! '  " 

I  continued  to  look  at  him  without  speaking,  yet  no 
longer  angrily,  but  with  a  sort  of  warmth  about  the  heart 
which,  if  not  love's  self,  was  yet  his  cousin  german.  At  any 
rate  this  was  better  than  Sister  Eulalie  and  the  Bald  Cat. 

Laurence  went  on,  still  holding  the  little  mill-wheel 
between  his  fingers — I  think  I  see  him  yet.  He  kept 
nervously  turning  it  this  way  and  that,  adjusting  a 
bucket  held  in  place  with  its  wooden  pin,  and  firming  the 
axle  with  care  and  skill.  Yet  with  the  most  sorely  pained 
expression  on  his  face,  and  something  like  a  film  of 
unshed  tears  behind  his  eyes.  He  was  sorry  for  himself, 
yet  he  seemed,  somehow,  tenfold  sorrier  for  me.  And 
indeed,  the  thought  of  this  dear  young  lad,  who  had 
never  loved  but  me  really,  helped  me  many  a  time  in 
after  hours,  that  of  themselves  were  naught  but  the 
blackness  of  pitchy  darkness.  It  might  have  been  better 
if  I  could  have  followed  my  impulse  of  the  morrow — but 
it  is  false  that  a  woman  can  do  with  herself  as  she  will. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  in  nowise  his  fault.  For  all  that 
Larry  did  and  said  was  so  sweet  and  simple  and 
undemanding. 

Not  at  all  like — like  that  other.  Yet,  perhaps,  if  Lau- 
rence had  asked  more  he  might  have  saved  me  much,  who 
can  tell? 

"  Ah,"  he  continued,  ''  if  only  you  loved  as  I  would  have 
you  love — how  safe  that  would  keep  you.  It  is  (I,  who 
am  half  a  monk,  know  it — have  seen  it)  a  terrible  thing 
for  a  woman  to  marry  a  man  she  does  not  love,  whom 
she  never  can  love !  " 


6o  MAY   MARGARET 

"  And,  pray,  Sir  Abbot,"  I  cried,  "  who  are  you  to 
judge  of  the  Hkes  and  disHkes,  loves  and  hates,  marryings 
and  givings  in  marriage  of  Margaret  of  Douglas  and 
Galloway?  Your  breviary  and  the  lives  of  the  holy  saints 
Trophimus  and  Kentigern  would  suit  you  better !  Or, 
perhaps  that  of  St.  Anthony  might  teach  the  danger  of 
championing  damosels  in  distress." 

But  all  this  was  thrown  away  upon  the  fixity  of 
Laurence  McKim's  purpose,  and  changed  nothing  of  the 
sweet  and  gentle  melancholy  with  which  he  spoke. 
There  was  no  passion  in  his  words  or  in  his  speech,  as 
there  would  have  been  in  James  Douglas's — but  all  pure 
and  child-tender,  at  times  almost  maternal.  Where 
had  the  lad  learned  the  secret?  Within  and  without  he 
was  wholly  different  from  the  rough-colted  boy  who  had 
gone  forth  with  my  uncle,  the  Abbot,  to  learn  singing 
at  Sweetheart  on  the  eve  of  the  great  tournament  on  the 
Lochar  braes. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  "  you  have  every  right  to  flout  me. 
But,  all  the  same,  you  will  never  love  William  Douglas. 
And,  being  the  girl  you  are,  the  last  daughter  of  your 
race,  a  Douglas  of  the  Douglases,  you  must  have  someone 
to  love.  If  that  one  be  not  a  good  man — ah,  then  I  see 
clouds  black  and  terrible  rise  up  before  us.  And  I  risk 
all — your  favour.  Earl  William's  favour,  my  place  and 
rank,  which  I  owe  to  you — so  that  when  the  storm  comes 
you  may  know  that  there  is  one  who  will  love  you  truly 
and  surely — even  as,  if  they  had  lived,  your  brothers 
would — and  in  the  same  fashion." 

Then  I  think  that  Laurence  saw  I  was  not  scornful  any 
more,  for  the  tone  of  his  voice  grew  more  cheerful — 
not  glad  or  amorous,  or  even  hopeful,  but  as  of  one  who 
feels  neither  himself  nor  his  motives  any  longer  mis- 
understood. 

"  Half  a  priest — yes,"  he  said,  still  with  the  tone  of 
gentle  melancholy  which  sat  so  well  on  him.  "  But, 
thank  God,  not  a  whole  monk.  Do  not  forget  that  I  have 
been  longer  alone  within  that  fair  abbot's  house  at  the 
New  Abbey,  within  sound  of  the  vesper  bells,  than  you  in 
the  convent  of  St.  Brigida.     Yes,  and  I  have  been  much 


MARGARET    OF   MARGARETS  6i 

lonelier,  for  I  was  not  meant  to  be  a  holy  man,  according 
to  the  acceptation  of  the  Orders.  Yet  I  obey — that  is, 
as  far  as  in  me  is.  But  my  heart  is  apart  from  this 
thing.  To  be  kindly  to  all,  helpful  to  as  many  as  possible, 
to  do  evil  to  none,  to  carry  no  ill  tale  and  to  listen  to  none. 
Such  things  as  these  I  read  in  four  booklets  called  '  the 
Holy  Gospels.'  But  that  is  noways  religion  according 
to  the  Church  and  the  Orders.  To  pray  so  often,  to  eat 
meat  on  this  day  and  fish  on  that,  to  fast  till  noon  on 
chicken-broth,  to  click  so  many  beads,  to  sing  so  many 
hymns,  to  declare  all  men  outcast  and  condemned,  going 
before  into  judgment,  unless  they  can  prove  themselves 
properly  ear-marked  sheep  of  the  churchly  pasture, 
lambs  of  the  monkish  fold !  " 

"  Laurence,"  I  broke  in  hastily,  "  in  such  a  case  were  it 
not  better  to  cast  your  abbotship  to  the  winds,  to  bend 
bow  or  lay  spear  in  rest  as  a  knight  or  yeoman?  Nay,  to 
cut  wood  and  draw  water  like  a  villein,  rather  than  to 
abide,  practising  the  things  in  which  you  do  not  believe, 
chanting  songs  without  a  meaning,  carrying  forth  sacra- 
ments to  mock  dying  lips?  " 

He  appeared  to  consider  a  while. 

"  There  is  somewhat  in  what  you  say,  though,  in  fact,  I 
do  none  of  these  things,"  thus  he  answered  me.  '*  Also, 
there  is  an  obverse  to  the  coin.  In  the  first  place,  at  least, 
I  can  make  of  Dulce  Cor  a  clean  place  as  compared  with 
other  foundations,  a  harbourage  of  peace  and  right 
living,  a  centre  of  help  and  kindly  brotherhood.  For 
not  the  Grand  Bashaw  of  the  Turks  has  more  absolute 
power  than  I  in  the  Cistercian  abbey  of  Sweetheart — so 
long,  that  is,  as  I  have  the  Douglases  at  my  back." 

I  shook  my  head  in  my  turn. 

"  You  are  keeping  something  behind  that,"  I  said. 
*'  Larry,  you  cannot  deceive  me.  You,  a  soldier  and  a 
brave  lad  to  drive  a  spear,  handsome  and  young.  You 
should  not  be  content  to  rule  in  a  monastery,  when  you 
could  as  easily  lead  five  hundred  men,  all  clad  in  mail, 
into  the  shock  and  turmoil  of  battle.  No,  Larry  lad, 
you  ever  liked  your  drink  heady.  Tell  me  the  true 
reason  why  you  have  come  down  to  curds  and  whey !  " 


62  MAY    MARGARET 

He  thought  a  while  and  then  said,  "  It  is  true — there  is 
more  behind." 

"  Tell  it  me,  then !  "  said  I. 

And  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm,  looking  at  him. 
For  one  could  not  help  being  gracious  with  Laurence. 
At  least  I  could  not.  He  never  presumed  even  once — 
perhaps  I  should  add,  "Alas  " ! 

"  I  have  little  to  live  for,"  he  said,  "  leave  me  this.  I 
would  rather  a  thousand  times  spend  my  life  in  a  cell, 
than  take  away  the  one  hope  which  I  hold  in  the  deep 
places  of  my  heart." 

"And  that  hope  is?" 

"  That  one  day  the  White  House  of  the  Sisters  of  Dulce 
Cor  may  be  a  refuge  for  you — at  the  storm-breaking,  in 
the  day  which  shall  come — yes,  surely !  " 

"  But  am  I  not  to  be  the  wife  of  William  Douglas, 
Earl  of  Galloway  and  Duke  of  Touraine?  What  need 
shall  I  have  of  refuges  and  convents?  I  had  done  with 
such  on  the  day  I  left  Cour  Chevemey  yonder !  " 

"  Ah,  wait,"  he  made  answer,  gently  as  ever,  "  the  great 
house  stands  high  and  the  winds  bear  sore  upon  it. 
The  tides  run  strong  beneath.  But  mine  is  but  a  little 
dwelling,  set  in  a  green  howe,  with  only  a  streamlet  that 
runs  thereby.  And — I  am  content.  At  least  it  shall  be 
kept  in  readiness  for  you." 

"  Then  you  think  that  William  will  not  succeed  in  his 
great  schemes  for  Scotland — or  that  he  will  perish  in 
the  doing  of  them?" 

"  As  to  that,  there  is  none  who  can  tell,"  Laurence 
answered.  "  either  William  of  Douglas  will  be  the  first 
man  in  the  land  or — his  head  will  go  the  way  of  those 
other  two — his  cousins  !  " 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  there  is  one  other  of  the  race  who  will 
stand  by  the  chief,  and  the  name  of  her — Margaret 
Douglas." 

Laurence  smiled,  yet  with  something  so  strange,  so  far 
away  and  sweet  in  his  smile,  that  I  asked  him  what  he 
meant.  For  it  seemed  that  I  had  not  yet  snatched  the 
whole  heart  out  of  the  mystery  he  propounded. 

But  he  would  only  say,  "  My  Margaret  of  Margarets, 


MARGARET   OF    MARGARETS  63 

it  is  the  rule  of  the  Master  of  All  that  days  run  to  weeks, 
that  weeks  being  summed,  make  the  months,  and  the 
returning  months  count  the  years  and  the  lifetime.  That 
is  a  long  time  for  a  woman  of  the  Douglas  race  to  do 
without  being  loved.  As  for  the  love  with  which  I  love 
you — it  is  (I  promise  you)  as  the  well-water  in  the  Abbey 
precinct,  under  the  great  oak,  cool,  clear,  and — savour- 
less. But  you  Douglases,  man  and  woman  of  you, 
drink  of  love  as  one  who  quenches  his  thirst  in  strong 
wine,  goblet  after  goblet.  So  it  was  with  your  brother, 
and  so  it  will  be  with  you !  " 
"  Bah,"  said  I,  "  you  preach  too  much,  Laurence  McKim  ! 
And  all  your  texts  are  taken  from  the  Song  of  Solomon — 
which  even  clerks  ought  to  read  only  on  high  days  and 
holidays.  I  agree  not  with  your  conclusions.  I  deny 
your  premises.  I  will  none  of  your  reproof.  Set  up 
your  mill-wheel  in  the  linn,  and  let  us  be  going!" 


CHAPTER     IX 

THE   GARDEN    AT   AMBOISE 

It  was  the  Dauphin  who  conducted  us  to  Amboise — why, 
I  did  not  at  the  time  know.  And  such  a  way  as  it  proved 
from  Cour  Cheverney,  past  telHng  of — all  along  the  green 
river  banks,  the  blossoms  of  the  fruit  trees  blushing  in 
the  sunshine,  a  pink  haze  of  blown  petals,  like  a  morning 
mist,  pearling  all  across  the  orchards  of  Touraine — a 
sweet  thing  to  see,  that  high  day  and  holiday  of  the  year. 

This  time  we  rode  quietly  and  steadily ;  for  Varlet  had 
been  exercised  of  late,  and — I  had  no  need  to  run  away 
from  three  men  who,  each  according  to  his  possible,  loved 
me,  or  at  least  told  me  that  he  did.  With  these  about  me, 
I  cared  little  even  for  the  shifty,  baleful,  yellowish  eye 
of  the  Dauphin  Louis.  For  (as  I  thought  then), 
William  was  his  equal  in  statecraft;  James  certainly 
could  have  cut  him  in  twelve,  like  the  Levite's  concubine, 
with  as  many  strokes  of  his  sword  ;  and  as  for  Larry, 
Louis  de  Valois  was  afraid  that,  in  his  quality  of  Abbot, 
he  would  ban  him  with  bell,  book,  and  candle. 

So  I  rode  and  held  myself  safe,  not  knowing  of  the 
depth  of  the  creature's  guile,  and  the  cruelties  which  even 
then  were  fermenting  like  yeast  in  his  brain. 

As  usual,  William  Douglas  and  the  Dauphin  bode 
together — hard  at  it,  now  in  fierce  debate,  now  in  hushed 
conference,  the  miles  padding  unheeded  between  their 
horses'  hoofs,  and  the  fair  landscape  lying  all  unregarded. 

A  little  behind,  Laurence  rode  with  one  or  two  of  his 
ambassador's  suite  about  him,  on  his  white  mule;  and, 
save  for  the  wistful  eyes  he  turned  upon  me  whenever  I 
looked  his  way,  one  might  have  thought  him  happy 
enough.  But,  since  I  knew  that  by  the  turn  of  a  finger 
I  could  bring  him  to  my  side,  I  stayed  with  James,  who, 
as  usual,  was  the  gayest  of  all  that  company. 
I  think,  too,  that  I  was  a  little  revengeful,  because  of 

64 


THE   GARDEN   AT   AMBOISE  65 

what  Laurence  had  taken  it  upon  him  to  say  in  the  wood 
the  day  we  set  the  water-mills  whirling.  After  all, 
though  I  liked  Laurence  McKim,  and  he  was  of  the 
pleasant  of  the  earth,  he  had  no  right  to  dictate  to  me 
what  I  should  say  or  with  whom  I  should  speak. 

At  any  rate,  he  should  learn  his  lesson,  and  then,  when  I 
had  need — why,  I  could  always  call  him  back  as  one 
whistles  to  heel  a  well-trained  dog.  So,  and  because  of 
these  things,  I  rode  with  James.  There  were  besides 
several  good  Scottish  knights  with  us,  but,  their  kindred 
ignorance  of  French  shutting  them  in  like  a  cage,  they 
had  little  to  say  even  to  each  other — nothing  at  all  to  me. 

Now,  in  all  that  bright  land  of  Touraine,  there  is  no 
castle  (and  there  are  many)  so  beautiful  for  situation  as 
that  of  Amboise.  I,  who  am  now  an  old  woman  and 
have  lived  in  these  latter  days  to  see  vast  changes,  have 
seen  no  vaster  change  anywhere  than  in  the  architecture 
of  the  houses  in  which  great  folk  live. 

Now  (they  tell  me)  Amboise  glistens  with  round  tower 
and  embayed  window  like  a  piece  of  jewellery  new  coft  in 
St.  Mark's  Square  at  Venice.  Then,  as  I  mind  it,  though 
the  residence  of  the  gayest  Court  in  the  world,  with  the 
King  and  all  his  folk  flaunting  in  gold  and  colours,  the 
castle  itself  had  little  of  splendour,  being  an  ancient  keep 
with  courtyard  and  flanking  towers — not  near  so  fine, 
indeed,  as  Cour  Cheverney,  albeit  very  much  larger. 
Thick  walls,  great  towers,  with  low  doors  therein — no 
entrance  gate  half  so  splendid  as  that  of  Thrieve — 
mighty  wastes  of  masonry,  doubtless  good  against  sun  and 
archery,  but  with  slotted  windows  which  made  the  lower 
stories  like  a  vault,  while  to  the  upper  the  staircases  were 
so  narrow  and  difficult  that  scarce  two  could  ascend  at 
one  time  abreast,  all  of  them  after  the  old  fashion,  too, 
twisting  and  turning  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall. 

But  as  to  the  setting  of  this  wilderness  of  stone  and  lime, 
never  had  I  seen  such  a  place. 

From  the  great  terrace,  lo!  all  fertile  Touraine,  the 
Garden  of  France — which  is  to  say,  of  the  world. 
Yonder  was  the  green  of  the  river  banks,  shining  emerant 
through  a  lawny  drift  of  peach  blossom,  the  clearer  hue 


66  MAY    MARGARET 

of  almond,  the  white  wax  of  cherry  and  apple — on  and 
on  till  the  distance  turned  into  a  land  of  dream,  or  some 
Avalon  lost  among  the  clouds  of  sunset.  Beneath,  the 
Loire  swung  past  in  a  great  circle,  almost  bending  back 
upon  itself,  and  blue  as  only  a  river  of  France  can  be 
under  the  sky  of  May  and  (iaul. 

In  the  outer  courts  and  gardens  were  many  courtiers, 
who  saluted  the  Dauphin  with  deep  reverences.  But 
Louis,  striding  through  the  press  of  them  in  his  apparel 
of  dusty  black,  his  buckleless  belt  tied  with  whip-cord,  his 
spurs  uncleaned,  and  narrow-brimmed  steel  cap  which 
many  a  gay  arquebusier  would  have  scorned  to  wear, 
never  so  much  as  acknowledged  one  of  their  greetings. 
He  passed  through  a  gate  which  led  out  of  a  courtyard 
into  a  garden,  never  pausing  till,  at  a  certain  iron  port, 
a  man  in  armour  stood  on  guard. 

"  None  must  pass  within !  "  the  sentry  grumbled,  frown- 
ing and  grounding  his  pike  with  an  air  of  authority. 

But  it  was  fine  to  see  how  the  Dauphin  set  him  aside,  as 
if  he  had  been  a  wooden  puppet. 

"  I  go  to  my  father,"  he  said ;  "  let  me  pass  this 
instant !  " 

And  then  with  an  officiousness  mightily  impressive  there 
came  one  who,  by  his  chain  of  office,  was  a  sort  of  major- 
domo  or  chief  steward,  and  he  stood  before  Louis  of 
Valois  in  all  the  bravery  of  gold-worked  tabard  and 
silver-hilted  sword,  the  latter  shaped  like  a  toothpick  and 
of  as  much  use.  He  had  on  his  head  a  broad  flat  bonnet 
of  purple  velvet,  which  he  doffed  as  he  bowed  low  before 
his  master's  son.  James,  amused  and  yet  no  little 
amazed,  regarded  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  green  frog 
swelling  himself  to  croak. 

"The  King  takes  the  air,"  the  major-domo  said;  "will 
it  inconvenience  His  Highness  the  Dauphin  to  wait  a 
moment  while  his  servant  announces  him  to  the  King?" 

"  It  would  inconvence  me  exceedingly,"  said  the 
Dauphin,  with  a  sneer,  "  only  the  Dauphin  of  France  has 
no  idea  of  being  preceded  into  his  father's  presence  by — 
let  us  say  with  as  little  offence  as  possible — Sir  Pandarus 
of  Troy !  " 


THE    GARDEN    AT    AMBOISE  67 

And  with  that  he  opened  the  door  with  his  own  hand, 
and  I  could  see  within  as  through  a  crevice  in  a  wall. 

It  was  a  fine  enclosure,  laid  out  with  green  paths  and 
shady  with  noble  trees,  having  little  fountains  that 
babbled  all  about.  The  place  was  full  as  it  could  hold 
of  the  lilies  of  the  Virgin,  orange  and  straw-colour  and 
white,  jetting  up  from  the  green  and  nodding  graciously 
in  the  breeze. 

James  Douglas  had  stood  aside  for  me  to  enter  first,  as 
my  right  was.  But  William  Douglas  came  and  caught 
me  by  the  wrist  when  I  had  already  set  my  foot  on  the 
threshold.  He  gripped  me  almost  fiercely,  and  indeed, 
even  hurt  my  wrist. 

He  drew  back  with  some  rudeness,  saying  only,  "  Let 
the  Dauphin  go  find  his  father  first.  It  is  ill  coming 
between  such  a  son  and  such  a  father !  " 

Then  I  sulked  a  little  and  pouted,  holding  out  my  hand, 
as  a  child  does  with  a  hurt.  Of  this  William  Douglas 
took  no  notice  at  all,  but  only  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
garden  door.  Then  came  James  up,  and,  taking  my  wrist 
between  his  fingers,  pretended  to  chafe  it,  murmuring 
many  jesting  bairnlinesses — yet  with  some  of  the  accom- 
paniments of  real  tenderness  as  well.  Laurence,  in  deep 
dudgeon  at  something,  gnawed  at  his  under  lip  and 
gloomed  at  me  from  afar. 

So  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  him.  I  laughed  indeed 
so  that,  leaving  James,  I  went  up  to  him  and  said,  "  If 
it  pleases  his  Reverency,  the  Abbot  of  Dulce  Cor,  to  girn 
at  me  like  a  sheep's  head  in  the  tongs,  perhaps  he  would 
like  to  "  swage  the  ill  himself !  " 

And  I  held  out  the  arm  and  wrist  to  him,  knowing  well 
that  in  his  heart  his  desire  was  to  kiss  it,  and  that  he 
dared  not  before  so  many.  It  is  good  to  be  able  to  tease 
a  man  thus  in  safety,  and  yet  nobody  know  of  it. 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  the  misfortune  ?  "  he  said, 
suddenly  rallying  a  little  as  I  made  to  leave  him  again. 

"  Methinks,"  said  I,  "  it  was  only  a  certain  Bull,  that 
hath  taken  it  upon  him  to  show  his  horns  a  little  too 
soon !  " 

It  seemed  as  if  neither  William  nor  Laurence  took  mv 


68  MAY    MARGARET 

meaning,  for  both  remained  fixed  and  with  grave  coun- 
tenances. But  with  his  head  thrown  back  my  great  out- 
spoken James  shouted  a  laugh  to  the  skies,  which  the 
Dauphin  must  have  heard  in  the  garden. 

"  She  is  a  very  vixen-reynard,  this  one,"  he  said. 
"  She  nips  shrewdly.  Will,  my  lad,  she  means  the  Pope's 
Bull  that  you  have  gotten  to  marry  her !  And  she  twits 
you  that  you  are  not  married  yet,  and  have  no  authority 
over  her  impishness !" 

"  Ah !  "  said  William  calmly,  without  appearing  to  have 
heard  the  explanation  of  the  sorry  jest  (all  jests  are  sorry 
when  explicated),  "here  is  the  Dauphin.  Doubtless  he 
comes  to  bring  us  to  the  king,  his  father." 

Now,  when  I  thought  of  the  king  of  France,  Charles, 
seventh  of  that  name,  I  took  him  for  a  sovereign  of  power 
and  inches,  making  men  obey  him  as  did  Will,  my 
cousin,  or  able  to  drive  a  lance  with  any  man,  like  James. 
So  I  was  ill  prepared  for  that  which  indeed  I  saw — a  man 
of  the  middle  height,  fleshy  and  otiose,  with  red-rimmed 
smallish  eyes,  full  of  good  humour  and  slow  laughters, 
which,  though  most  silent,  shook  him  like  a  jelly.  He 
was  walking  in  a  certain  alley,  the  widest  of  all,  under  the 
sparse  sprinkling  shadow  of  high  lilac  bushes.  He  held 
by  the  hand  the  most  beautiful  lady  and  the  sweetest  to 
look  upon  that  eyes  ever  beheld.  And  I,  Margaret 
Douglas,  that  have  been  made  mickle  of  all  my  life,  in 
mine  own  country  and  elsewhere,  may,  in  such  a  matter, 
be  trusted  to  tell  the  truth. 

And  as  the  men  all  uncovered  except  Laurence  (who, 
being  a  clerk,  only  bowed  deeply),  the  king  broke  into 
a  volley  of  thick,  guttural  speech,  very  rapidly  spoken — 
which,  though  my  ears  had  been  attuned  to  nothing  but 
French  for  years,  it  was  still  difficult  for  me  to  make 
out. 

Charles  extended  his  right  hand  to  be  kissed,  and  one 
by  one  all  bent  and  kissed  the  plump  fingers — white, 
scented,  and  spanned  with  rings,  like  those  of  any  Court 
dame.  But  I,  having  nothing  to  ask  of  him  and  nothing 
to  fear,  with  great  gravity  gave  him  my  hand  to  kiss  (an 
it  liked  him),  whereat  he  laughed,  and  the  lady  by  his 


THE    GARDEN    AT    AMBOISE  69 

side,  whose  hand  he  had  held  all  the  while,  smiled,  and 
nodded  at  me  approvingly. 

"  Do  it !  "  she  bade  the  King-.  "  If  I  mistake  not,  it  is 
a  privilege  which  more  than  one  of  these  gentlemen 
present  will  envy  you !  " 

"  Indeed,  nay !  "  I  cried.  "  Why,  no  more  than  five 
minutes  ago  I  offered  it  to  two  of  them,  and " 

But  the  King,  with  his  hat  off,  was  kissing  my  hand, 
while  the  Dauphin,  in  whose  eyes  I  caught  death  and 
murder,  stood  glaring  at  the  beautiful  lady  at  his  father's 
side  as  if  he  would  like  to  kill  her  upon  the  spot. 

Then  Charles  VII.  presented  us  all  to  her — myself,  the 
Earl  of  Douglas,  my  Lord  James,  his  brother,  and  that 
holy  ecclesiast  in  partibus,  Laurence,  Abbot  of  Dulce 
Cor. 

"  The  Lady  Agnes  Sorel !  "  said  the  King  of  France, 
with  manifest  pride,  "  sometime  Demoiselle  de  Fromen- 
tau,  now  Comtesse  de  Penthievre,  and  above  all  "  (here  he 
smiled),  "Dame  de  Beaute." 

I  took  my  eyes  just  long  enough  off  that  radiant  face, 
full  of  gentleness  and  pity,  as  well  as  extraordinary 
beauty,  to  observe  the  effect  she  produced  upon  my  com- 
panions. As  for  me,  I  had  the  grace  to  feel  but  a  school- 
girl beside  her.  Indeed,  I  have  never  been  jealous  of  a 
woman  in  my  life.  It  is  not  my  way — nor,  indeed,  my 
need.  So,  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  am  but  a  girl,  it  is  true — 
but  I  will  grow  older.  This  Dame  de  Beaute  is  a  woman 
and  will  grow  old." 

The  which,  alas !  she  never  did,  dying  to  the  roar  of  the 
wind  through  the  Northern  woods  she  had  helped  the 
King  to  reconquer — the  Seine  running  below  brimful, 
past  the  ancient  abbey  of  Jumieges,  where  dwelt  the 
Dauphin  of  France — this  same  Louis  de  Valois,  who  is 
sore  belied  if  he  knew  not  in  what  manner  she  died. 

Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  William  stood  stock-still,  silent, 
stern,  gloomy  as  a  fir  wood  in  November.  He  made  her 
the  reverence  which  he  never  refused  to  any  woman,  old 
or  young,  sinner  or  saint.  And  I  said  to  myself,  "  Here, 
surely,  is  the  man  that  will  never  be  touched  by  the  power 
of  woman.     Even  now,  he  is  thinking  of  his  plans  and 


70 


MAY    MARGARET 


plottings !  "  The  which,  doubtkss,  should  have  been  a 
great  comfort  to  me ! 

But,  as  usual,  James  made  up  for  all.  He  knelt  on  one 
knee  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Dame  de  Beaute  with 
such  lingering  courtesy  and  lover-like  fervour  that  he 
well-nigh  made  me  laugh. 

Then  the  King,  taking  Will  suddenly  by  the  arm,  per- 
haps in  dudgeon  at  James's  forwardness,  marched  him 
off,  the  Dauphin  accompanying  them — probably  more  to 
listen  to  their  conversation  than  to  attend  upon  his  father 
from  any  idea  of  filial  obedience. 

We  were,  therefore,  left  a  party  of  three.  For  Laurence 
and  his  monks  had  withdrawn  themselves  to  another  part 
of  the  garden.  It  was  a  festal  day,  indeed,  for  our 
gallant  James — with  two  women,  both  young  and  one  of 
them  beautiful,  to  squire  here  and  there  among  the 
hawthorn  and  daffodillies. 

He  found  time,  however,  while  the  lady  turned  to  give 
some  directions  to  her  maids,  to  communicate  to  me, 
the  name  by  which  Agnes  Sorel  will  be  known  to  the 
end  of  time. 

"  La  Belle  des  Belles!  "  he  whispered,  with  his  finger 
on  his  lip.  Yet,  knowing  James  as  I  did,  I  think  he 
meant  the  lady  to  hear.  For  James  could  only  be 
James  to  the  world's  end. 


CHAPTER    X 


"la  belle  des  belles'' 


"  Who  may  she  be,  that  is  so  beautiful  ?  "  I  asked  of 
James. 

*'  She  is  our  Queen's  ward — her  favourite,  and  has  given 
much  good  counsel  to  the  King  in  matters  concerning 
which  the  Queen  is  incapable,"  said  James  calmly, 
"  specially,  that  is,  as  to  fighting  the  English,  and 
expelling  them  from  the  country.  Have  you  not  heard 
what  she  said  to  the  King  when  it  was  foretold  by  his 
own  soothsayer  that  she  should  live  to  do  service  to  a 
great  and  victorious  sovereign.  '  Then  let  me  go  to  the 
court  of  the  King  of  England,'  said  she,  rising  to  take 
her  leave,  '  that  I  may  serve  him !  For  as  for  His 
Majesty  of  France,  he  cares  for  naught  save  hunting 
and  pleasure.  I  but  lose  my  time  and  hinder  the  ful- 
filling of  my  destiny  by  remaining  longer  here ! '  Which 
when  the  King  heard  that,  he  was  stung  to  the  heart,  and 
forthwith  girded  on  his  armour  and  did  valiantly  in  many 
battles.  Then  Agnes  Sorel  retired  for  five  years  to  her 
country  seat,  where  she  had  been  brought  up  as  a  young 
girl.  But  of  late  the  Queen,  seeing  that  the  King  again 
drew  slack  to  oppose  the  English,  went  in  person  to  fetch 
her  back  to  the  court,  which  many  thought  she  was 
foolish  for  doing.  But  here  comes  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen  in  person." 

And  across  the  green  alleys,  as  it  were  from  the  side 
curtains  of  the  garden,  about  which  cropped  hedges  of 
yew  were  drawn  in  a  sort  of  narrow  labyrinth,  there  came 
a  gracious  lady,  sedate  and  grave  of  aspect,  yet  without 
obvious  melancholy. 

Marie  of  Anjou,  Queen  of  France,  was  still  in  the 
flower  of  her  age,  well  able  to  attend  to  the  affairs  domes- 
tic of  a  court  which  had  no  fixed  seat.     But,  for  the  rest, 

71 


^2  MAY   MARGARET 

she  had  no  influence  with  the  King,  who,  when  she 
reproached  him  that  the  EngHsh  were  not  expelled  from 
Guyenne,  replied  that  he  knew  very  well  that  she  only 
wanted  to  get  the  fish  for  Fridays  better  and  cheaper 
from  Bordeaux !  So  after  one  or  two  attempts  she  left 
the  whole  governance  of  the  King,  in  such  matters,  to  her 
young  ward,  the  lady  Agnes,  whose  title  of  Dame  de 
Beaute  constitutes  by  no  means  the  greatest  of  her  claims 
to  be  remembered. 

James  Douglas  bent  the  knee  to  the  Queen  of  France, 
but,  as  I  judged,  with  something  less  of  fervour  than  he 
had  showed  when  he  kissed  the  hand  of  Mistress  Sorel. 

"  And  who  may  this  be  ?  "  she  said  with  her  motherly 
serenity,  looking  long  at  me,  and  then  turning  to 
Mademoiselle  Sorel  for  information. 

The  Dame  de  Beaute  lowered  her  eyes  and  smiled,  but, 
for  reasons  which  I  appreciate  better  now  than  then,  she 
left  James  to  make  the  introduction. 

"  A  princess  in  your  own  right,  my  dear  ? "  said  the 
queen,  "  and  to  marry  your  cousin  by  the  special  per- 
mission of  His  Holiness  the  Pope — you  are  a  happy 
woman,  or  ought  to  be.  Indeed,  if  this  be  the  cousin — 
(she  turned  towards  the  Lord  James  as  he  spoke,  but 
Agnes  Sorel  quickly  interrupted) — **  Permit  me  to  set 
Your  Majesty  right,"  she  murmured;  "that  tall,  dark 
man  over  there  is  the  Earl  of  Douglas ;  he  who  talks  to 
the  King  and  the  Dauphin  concerning  state  affairs  in 
the  alcove  yonder." 

The  Queen  looked  at  the  three  men,  of  whom  one  was 
her  husband  and  the  other  her  son.  These  two  were 
bending  towards  William  Douglas  and  listening  eagerly, 
as  Will,  with  his  usual  self-absorption,  laid  down  the  law 
on  some  subject  of  importance  to  himself. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  would  it  had  not  been  so — for  your 
sake,  that  is,  my  little  lady.  No  woman  can  halter  these 
men  of  many  and  great  ideas.  When  you  wed,  my 
princess,  see  that  you  keep  the  smile  ready  on  your  lips 
even  when  the  tears  lag  not  far  behind.  Lock  the  sad- 
ness up,  but  let  the  hearth-fire  be  lit,  and  (if  God  be 
good  to  you)  the  children  playing  about  the  door  when 


"LA    BELLE   DES    BELLES"  73 

your  husband  rides  back  through  the  outer  gate.  For  the 
ideas  of  such  a  man  drive  him  fast  and  far — yea,  against 
his  will.  His  very  greatness  compels  him  to  go  on  and 
yet  on.  Stop  he  cannot.  His  task  will  never  be  done. 
Kingdoms  unknown,  foes  unproved,  there  are  to  conquer. 
New  horizons  open  continually  before  him,  and — I  dis- 
cern clearly  the  gloom  of  fate  unfulfilled  on  his  face !  If 
he  die  in  his  bed,  thi?  husband  whom  you  have  chosen,  I 
am  cheated  of  my  foresight — I,  a  woman  who  have 
suffered  much,  tell  you  so!  A  gloomy  prophecy — yet  it 
is  better  that  the  heart  should  be  forewarned." 

Then  she  turned  to  James,  who  had  been  listening  with 
an  amazed  expression  to  the  Queen's  words,  for  indeed 
he  loved  not  sad  talk  at  any  time.  "  And  the  great 
blonde  cousin  here,"  she  added,  "is  he  yet'wedded?" 

James  laughed  softly  and  a  little  scornfully. 

"  Nay,"  he  said ;  "  those  I  would  have  will  none  of  me. 
And  as  for  the  others " 

At  this  point,  even  as  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
Mademoiselle  Sorel  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  There 
was  a  smile  in  them — a  smile  which,  for  some  reason, 
discomfited  our  good  James  no  little. 

"May  I  walk  with  you,  little  one?"  she  said,  gently 
touching  me  on  the  shoulder  with  her  hand.  "  I  think 
the  Queen  has  something  to  say  to  my  Lord  James  of 
Douglas !  " 

They  walked  away  together,  while  we  followed  them, 
silent  till  we  had  entered  upon  the  alleys  of  green  shade, 
in  which  the  Queen's  head-dress  (of  the  fashion  of  twenty 
years  ago,  winged  above  like  a  sea  swallow  and  with  a 
falling  frill  of  white  muslin  to  cover  the  neck  below) 
reminded  me  of  my  mother  in  the  old  days  at  Thrieve — 
as  she  was  wont  to  stand  in  the  embrasure  of  the  tower, 
looking  eastward  for  the  home-coming  of  the  "  boys," 
who  would  never  grow  to  be  men. 

The  Queen  and  James  soon  passed  out  of  sight.  I  was 
left  alone  with  Agnes  Sorel.  For  a  time  she  did  not  speak, 
pacing  gently  along  with  her  eyes  abased  upon  the  tall 
Easter  Hlies,  which,  in  the  light  wind,  swayed  like  her 
own  slender  body. 


74  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Little  maid,"  she  said,  "  I  am  well-nigh  twice  as  old 
as  you — and  no  longer  a  girl.  I  have  seen  much,  and, 
they  say,  have  profited  thereby.  They  call  me  still  '  La 
Belle  des  Belles ! '  These  nicknames  stick  long.  They 
ought  rather  to  call  me  the  wisest  of  those  who  once  were 
fair.  The  profit  may  have  been  great,  but  it  has  also  been 
bitter.     Bear  with  me  !  " 

"  You  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen !  " 
The  words  came  from  me  I  hardly  know  how.  But  I 
meant  them — yes,  as  if  I,  too,  had  been  her  lover. 

She  sighed,  and  looked  about  her  a  little  wistfully. 

"  I  have  never  thought  much  of  that,"  she  said  gently. 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  feeling  somehow  more  at  ease  with 
her,  "  others  were,  I  doubt  not,  ready  enough  to  do  that 
for  you !  " 

She  poised  a  finger  at  me  with  an  expression  half  arch, 
half  melancholy. 

"  Little  flatterer,"  she  said,  "  do  they  teach  even  the 
maids  to  utter  love  glosings  in  their  cradles  in  Scotland? 
Or  have  the  Sisters  taught  you  the  trick  at  St.  Brigida's 
along  with  the  abacus  and  broidering  frame  ? " 

"  Neither,"  I  said.     *'  I  speak  the  truth  as  I  think  it !  " 

"  Ah,  wait,  little  lady,"  she  said.  "  In  two  years  you 
will  be  as  a  bird-of-paradise  to  my  barn-door  fowl.  You 
gain  every  day  in  beauty.  Wit  you  have  already,  as  is 
abundantly  manifest.  What  you  want  is  wisdom.  That 
is  all  I  now  possess.  In  everything  else  I  am  far  upon 
the  return !  " 

"  Not  so,  my  Lady  of  Beauty,"  I  answered  her.  "  You 
will  never  cease  to  be  as  young  and  beautiful  as  I  see  vou 
now !  " 

(And  when  I  spoke  I  knew  not  how  true  the  words 
vere  to  prove.) 

But  she  only  smiled  sadly  and  answered  me  in  a  proverb 
of  her  country,  as,  indeed,  she  had  a  habit  of  doing. 

"Adieu,  baskets,"  she  said,  "vintage  is  done!" 

Then  gently  and  sweetly,  as  she  did  everything,  she 
looked  at  me. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  "  it  is  not  so  with  you. 
Your  baskets  are  of  the  finest  silver  and  they  are  worthy 


"LA    BELLE    DES    BELLES"  75 

to  be  filled  with  apples  of  gold.  But  will  they  be?  Ah  " 
(here  she  sighed),  "  it  is  not  good  for  a  woman  to  be  too 
beautiful — or  what  is  the  same  thing,  to  have  the  name 
for  it." 

"  But  I  am  not,"  I  said,  awkwardly  enough — blushing 
too,  I  doubt.  For  had  not  James  told  me  that  very  thing 
two  hours  agone  as  we  rode  to  Amboise?  Not  that  I 
heeded  James  much,  for  he  was  always  cataloguing  my 
charms  like  a  bill  of  accompt !  But  Larry — well,  Larry 
spoke  the  truth  even  when  it  hurt.  Only  Will,  my 
cousin,  cared  nothing  for  the  matter  one  way  or  other. 
Indeed,  I  doubt  if  ever  he  remarked  my  face  more  than 
the  spangles  on  the  wungs  of  the  summer  butterflies  that 
fluttered  by,  balancing  themselves  like  thistledown  in  the 
light  wind.  So  it  is  small  wonder  that  I  blushed  because 
La  Belle  des  Belles  said  this  thing. 

Whereupon  immediately  she  took  my  arm  and  bent  over 
me,  most  loverlike. 

"  Princess,"  she  said,  "  there  is  a  proverb — '  Buy  peace 
and  a  house  ready  built ! '  That  is  my  advice.  Love 
your  husband  and  none  other  man.  He  is,  they  say,  both 
a  good  man  and  a  wise — a  little  hard,  maybe,  but  yet  to 
the  wife  who  keeps  the  home-fires  bright,  a  husband  has 
a  nose  of  wax.  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  she  can  make  of 
him  what  she  will.  So  at  least  we  say  in  Touraine, 
and  I  judge  it  is  a  true  word.  There  is,  of  course,  the 
tenth !  " 

"  But  I  can  never  love  my  cousin  Will,"  I  cried,  "  no,  not 
if  he  were  to  be  twenty  years  my  husband !  " 

Agnes  Sorel  rested  her  hand  a  little  more  heavily  on  my 
shoulder  as  she  replied,  "  Yes,  you  will  love  him — only 
pray  God  it  may  not  be  too  late !  " 

I  looked  about  me.  Will  was,  as  I  expected,  deep  in 
talk  with  the  King,  and  the  Dauphin  was  sitting  by, 
watching  them  out  of  those  twinkling  pupils  of  his  eyes, 
which  closed  and  opened  again  ever  so  little,  like  a  cat's 
in  the  sun. 

But  James,  walking  with  the  Queen,  was  at  the  moment 
looking  over  his  shoulder  at  me,  and  actually  had  the 
audacity  to  make  that  pouting  movement  of  the  lips  which 


ye  MAY   MARGARET 

the  French  call  petite  moue.  He  would  rather  have  been 
with  us,  he  meant  to  say ;  and  he  did  it  so  openly  that  I 
was  frightened  lest  the  King  or  other  might  see  him. 

"The  Lord  James  is  your  husband's  brother?"  said 
Agnes  Sorel,  with  (I  thought)  more  of  meaning  in  her 
tone  than  was  necessary. 

"  One  of  five  !  "  I  answered  ;  "  the  eldest  after  the  Earl !  " 

"  He  follows  you  ?  "  she  continued,  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  public  knowledge. 

"  Nay,"  answered  I,  with  some  little  heat,  "  he  saved  me 
from  the  dungeons  of  the  Marechal  de  Retz  at  Machecoul, 
and  on  that  account  I  have  seen  more  of  him  than  of  my 
other  cousins,  who  besides  are  much  younger.  Will, 
whom  for  the  sake  of  the  House  I  must  marry,  I  have 
scarce  seen  at  all." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  then  you  love  this  James. 
I  am  sorry.  Such  round-the-corner  affection  as  this  is 
poor  capital  to  begin  house-keeping  on !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  love  him  not — no,  nor  any  man  in  the  world," 
I  cried  with  much  hotness  of  speech.  "  I  would  give  all 
I  possess  to  rid  me  of  the  whole  wearyful  teasing  crew. 
And  of  all  things  that  tease,  my  cousins  are  the  worst — 
excepting  Will,  that  is,  who  takes  no  notice  of  any- 
thing." 

"  And  that,"  here  the  Dame  de  Beaute  smiled,  "  you 
being  a  woman,  like  worst  of  all!" 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  returning  to  the  main  question,  "  you 
do  James  a  great  wrong.  He  loves  me,  indeed,  but  he 
would  as  lief  say  so  before  his  brother  as  to  myself,  and 
as  for  William — if  he  did,  why  he  would  only  continue 
to  expound  Rights  Royal  and  Rights  Seigneurial,  Privi- 
lege and  Prerogative,  Domaines  and  Feodalities,  while 
James  made  verses  upon  my  eyelashes  or  told  over  for  the 
fiftieth  time  the  rings  upon  my  fingers !  " 

The  brows  of  the  Dame  de  Beaute  were  drawn  into 
a  frown.  The  line  of  finnness  showed  plain  between 
them. 

"  I  must  speak  with  William,  Earl  of  Douglas,"  she 
murmured;  "this  marches  worse  than  I  thought." 

"  You  shall  not,"   1  cried,   snatching  away   from  her. 


"LA   BELLE   DES    BELLES"  77 

"  What  right  have  you  to  take  so  much  upon  you  ?  "What 
am  I  to  you — aye,  or  what  is  William  Douglas  either? 
Pray  grind  your  own  corn  with  the  water  out  of  your 
own  mill-dam,  Mistress  Agnes  Sorel !  " 

The  Dame  de  Beaute  was  no  ways  put  down  by  my 
rudeness ;  indeed,  since  I  had  spoken  as  a  baby,  she 
treated  me  as  one. 

"  To-day  explains  Yesterday,  and  To-morrow  the  Day 
After,"  she  said;  "but  we  must  wait  the  Last  Day  of 
All  to  know  everything!  Then  you  also  will  know  that 
I  was  right.  Though  now  my  words  anger  you,  and  are 
out  of  tune  to  your  ear,  believe  that  I  know  that  which  is 
best  for  you.  Have  I  not  bought  that  knowledge  with  a 
great  price?  Let  your  heart  follow  your  hand,  and,  as 
you  love  God,  draw  yourself  apart  from  the  Lord  James, 
your  cousin !  He  is  a  light  man.  He  hath  the  wandering 
eye.    He  will  make  no  woman  happy !  " 

"  You  shall  not  speak  against  James,"  I  cried,  yet  more 
angrily  than  before.  "  I  have  known  him  from  a  child. 
He  saved  me  from  death — aye,  worse,  from  the  Altar  of 
Evil  itself  at  Machecoul.  He  can  drive  a  lance  with  any 
man  in  France.  It  is  not  given  you  to  say  to  a  woman's 
heart, '  Stay  here,  or  go  there.'  When  you  were  young  as 
I,  could  you  do  as  much  with  your  own?  " 

The  Dame  de  Beaute  bowed  her  head,  and  I  think  a  tear 
fell  upon  her  hand. 

"  God  help  me,  that  could  I  not !  "  she  murmured ;  "  but 
my  failure  only  makes  me  the  wiser  physician  for  others. 
May  the  Mother  Mary,  in  her  mercy,  keep  your  feet  from 
the  way  mine  have  walked  in !  " 

I  took  her  hand,  and  would  have  answered  more  gently, 
for  there  were  tears  also  in  my  eyes.  But  at  that  moment 
William,  my  cousin,  came  up,  and,  putting  his  hand  on 
my  arm,  almost  dragged  me  away,  making  no  apology, 
saying  neither  By-y'r-leave  nor  yet  Fare-ye-well !  " 

"  The  King  desires  to  see  you !  "  He  said  the  words 
roughly.     "  Come  !  " 

Then,  as  was  natural,  I  flew  into  a  yet  greater  anger,  and 
said  to  him,  "  Do  you  think,  sirrah,  that  this  is  the  way  to 
make  a  young  maid  love  you  ?  " 


78  MAY    MARGARET 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  to  love  me,"  he  retorted  upon  me ; 
"  only  to  obey  me!  " 

"Do  as  he  bids;  he  is  right!"  murmured  Agnes  Sorel 
softly,  as  she  turned  away,  her  eyes  upon  the  green 
untrodden  grass  and  the  nodding  lilies  of  Our  Lady. 


.    CHAPTER    XI 

THE    MISTS   OF   DEE 

I  CONFESS  It  was  with  a  marvellous  gladness  that  I  saw 
our  ancient  castle  of  Thrieve  stand  up  out  of  the  morn- 
ing mists,  as  we  rode  up  Deeside  from  the  little  port  of 
Kirkcudbright,  where  we  had  landed.  I  was  once  more 
in  the  land  and  among  the  people  who  were  mine  own.  I 
could  scarce  repress  my  joy.  When  I  leaped  on  the 
quay,  I  declare  I  could  have  kissed  the  many  decent 
town's  folk,  who,  with  sundry  of  the  neighbouring  gen- 
trice,  had  come  down  to  welcome  me.  It  was  sweet  to 
hear  their  honest  Scots  tongue  again,  though  oftentimes 
I  could  hardly  keep  from  answering  back  in  French. 

But  Thrieve !  To  see  it  once  more  and  know  it  mine — 
yes,  mine,  even  though  I  must  fulfil  my  word  and  give 
it  (with  myself)  to  another,  and  he  a  man  whom  I  could 
not  love. 

But  I  did  not  think  of  that  then — Thrieve  and  Maud 
Lindsay  and  Sholto !  These  were  before  me,  and  my 
heart  beat  fast  to  see  the  valley  opening  out,  and  the 
white  haze  lifting  from  the  water-meadows.  For  though 
we  had  left  it  full  summer  in  Touraine,  we  came  to  Gallo- 
way to  find  it  little  more  than  the  breaking  out  of  the 
spring-time  on  the  white-thorns  on  the  braes. 

And  (so  I  kept  saying  to  myself)  Maud  could  tell  me 
what  I  must  do — Maud  would  understand  all.  She  would 
not  preach  like  the  others.  She  would  know  that  the  best 
way  to  make  a  young  maid  think  of  any  man  is  constantly 
to  abuse  him  to  her  behind  his  back.  So  they  had  done 
with  James  Douglas — all  but  William,  that  is — who,  I 
believe,  had  as  much  idea  of  being  jealous  of  his  stable- 
knave. 

But  there  was  Laurence — whose  angers,  however, 
because  of  what  I  believe  was  in  his  heart  towards  me, 

79 


8o  MAY    MARGARET 

I  could  understand  and  forgive.  But  every  day  there 
was  this  one  and  that — each  with  a  tale  to  bear  of  my 
Lord  James  and  his  wild  doings — concerning  maids  of 
honour  and  such  like.  Last  of  all,  and  worst  of  all,  there 
was  Agnes  Sorel,  who  had  had  so  many  bitter  things  to 
say  of  one  concerning  whom  she  knew  nothing.  Even 
the  Sieur  Paul  (no  white  angel  himself)  could  not  let  the 
poor  lad  go  from  Cour  Cheverney  without  a  blow  in 
the  by-going,  perhaps  thinking  to  curry  favour  with  me. 

"  You  are  marrying  the  right  brother,"  he  said ;  "  you 
will  sleep  the  easier  for  it !  My  Lord  Quicksilver  here 
would  be  always  out  at  the  hay-making !  " 

But  I  answered  him  back  that  it  was  all  upon  the  turn  of 
a  coin  which  of  my  cousins  I  wedded — that  they  were  all 
five  of  them  brave  men,  right  Douglases,  and  true  Scots. 
The  which  words,  being  sorry  for  afterwards,  caused  me 
upon  taking  of  my  leave,  to  hold  up  my  cheek  for  the 
Sieur  Paul  to  kiss — saying  that  it  was  an  ancient  Scots 
custom,  the  first  time  that  one  had  tasted  of  a  good  man's 
hospitality.  And  Messire  Paul  had  the  grace  to  reply, 
"  I  thank  you,  my  lady  Princess,  for  your  great  conde- 
scendence. By  St.  Denis,  if  I  had  been  a  younger  man, 
and  somewhat  slimmer  of  my  body,  I  should  have  broken 
a  lance  with  these  lads  myself  for  the  honour  of  your 
hand — though,  indeed,  as  to  the  matter  of  your  vow 
I  am  no  Scot,  but  only  a  true  Douglas  in  name  and  in 
heart ! " 

"■  Well,"  I  said,  "  for  that  good  and  brave  saying  I  will 
give  you  back  your  kiss — which  is  more  than  I  have  ever 
given  to  any  of  these  very  poor  young  men,  riding  upon 
horses !  " 

For  I  knew  how  envious  James  was  for  the  like,  and  of 
course  it  pleased  me  to  think  that  he  would  hear  and  see. 
Which,  indeed,  he  did,  and  grilled  within  him — not  speak- 
ing a  word  for  the  better  part  of  a  day,  as  we  took  our 
way  down  the  water-side  towards  the  port  of  Nantes, 
where  we  were  to  embark  in  the  little  ship  which  was  to 
bring  us  safe  to  Scotland. 

•  •  •  •  • 

But  it  is  of  Thrieve  and  my  home-coming  that  1  have  to 


o 

2 

Z 
b£ 
O 

s 

I 

o 

h 
O 

a 


> 
X 

h 


u 

2 

M 

2 
< 

D 
O 


THE    MISTS    OF   DEE  8i 

speak.  One  thing-  there  was  which  appeared  strange  to 
me.  Already  WilHam  had  taken  all  under  his  care.  It 
was  "  my  castle,"  "  my  men,"  "  my  lands,"  "  my  fiefs  " — 
till  I  was  moved  to  say,  "  Not  so  fast,  my  dear  Lord  of 
Douglas  and  Avondale — here  you  are  only  my  cousin 
Will,  come  on  a  visit  to  MY  castle.  Do  not,  in  the  press 
of  your  plans,  forget  that  poor  little  Margaret  is  still 
the  chatelaine  of  Thrieve  !  " 

Never  did  you  see  a  man  more  taken  aback. 

"  Betrothed  or  married— it  is  the  same  thing,"  he  said. 
"  Besides,  have  I  not  faithfully  administered  your  estates 
for  you  all  the  time  you  have  spent  in  France  ?  " 

"  Yes,  surely,  Will,"  said  I,  in  the  tone  that  never  failed 
to  make  him  nettled,  "  it  is  of  that  I  would  speak.  You 
were  doubtless  a  good  '  doer,'  an  excellent  steward.  But 
now  that  I  am  once  more  in  my  province  and  principality 
— why,  I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  entertain  my  Lord  of 
Avondale,  his  brother,  the  Lord  James,  and  the  Abbot  of 
Dulce  Cor  for  as  long  as  they  will  deign  to  remain  with 
me. 

But  in  spite  of  myself,  I  could  not  keep  my  gravity  at 
the  dismay  on  his  face,  and  I  had  perforce  to  laugh, 
which  spoilt  all. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  there  is  much  to  do — little  time 
to  do  it  in.  Let  us  make  all  secure.  Before  we  enter 
Thrieve,  I  would  have  you  appoint  a  day  for  our  wedding 
and  forewarn  a  priest " 

"  Not  Larry,  then,"  I  cried.  "  He  will  never  tie  you 
firmly  enough  to  the  estates  you  wish  so  much  to  marry. 
Galloway  itself  might  slip  off  the  thread,  with  only  such 
an  apprentice  at  the  parson  work  as  Laurence  McKim  to 
tie  the  knot.  And  that,  you  know,  would  break  your 
heart,  WilHam." 

At  which  James  laughed,  till  he  chanced  to  observe  the 
expression  in  his  brother's  eyes.  But  for  that  I  cared 
nothing.  Will  might  be  as  angrisome  as  a  wullcat  of  the 
Forest  of  Buchan — he  would  not  fright  me. 

"  Listen,  Cousin  Will,"  I  said.  "  There  has  come  to  me 
in  the  night  a  proposal  which,  if  you  accept,  will  end  all 
your  anxieties.     Here  it   is.     Take   Galloway,  take  the 


82  MAY   MARGARET 

North,  take  the  Forest,  take  all  that  is  mine  on  the 
Borderside !  Leave  me  only  the  little  Isle  of  Thrieve, 
with  Maud  Lindsay  and  her  husband  Sholto  to  look  after 
me — enough  meal  in  the  meal-ark  to  make  our  porridge, 
a  little  beef  in  the  larder  for  the  house-carles,  as  many 
chickens  as  I  can  breed  and  feed — and  as  for  me  I 
promise  never  to  meddle  with  you  or  with  your  plottings 
any  more !     What  say  you  to  that  ?  " 

Then  for  a  moment  William  Douglas  said  nothing.  He 
still  said  nothing  when  James  cried  out,  "  Bravely  said, 
cousin  mine ! — I  for  one  w'ill  stay  and  help  you  feed  the 
chickens — let  them  go  follow  glory  who  love  glor)'.  She 
is  but  any  old  unwashed  dishclout,  an  unstable  wench 
that  gives  a  man  more  cuffs  than  cossetings." 

Then  for  one  wild  moment  there  came  a  hope  in  my 
heart  that  Will  would  take  me  at  my  word.  But  his 
silence  was  only  his  accustomed  way  of  examining  every- 
thing seriously,  and  of  giving  a  fair  and  equal  considera- 
tion to  each  proposition  that  was  placed  before  him. 
This  it  was  which  made  it  so  easy  for  me  to  tease  him, 
and  also  so  impossible  for  him  to  reply.  For,  long  before 
he  had  time  to  prepare  his  phrase,  I  was,  so  to  say,  "  out 
of  the  window  with  the  swallows." 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  quite  simply  for  so  great  a  man, 
"  I  do  not  use  ink-horn  terms.  But  I  tell  you  this — if 
you  speak  in  earnest,  you  know  not  what  you  say.  And 
if  not — then  /  know  not  what  you  mean !  " 

So  after  this  I  said  no  word  more,  nor  yet  did  James. 
For  there  is  nothing  so  disconcerting  to  those  who  count 
themselves  clever  with  the  tongue  (which  both  James  and 
I  did)  than  to  be  put  down  by  the  simplicity  of  one  whom 
they  know  greater  than  they. 

But  there  at  the  last  was  the  boat  waiting  to  ferry  us 
across  the  river.  (For  be  it  not  forgotten  that  the  Castle 
of  Thrieve  lies  upon  an  island  of  twenty  acres  or  thereby, 
with  the  river  Dee  running  deep  about  it  on  every  side — 
save  at  a  place  on  the  east  where,  as  I  remember,  it  was 
mostly  possible  to  cross  on  stepping-stones  in  the  long 
droughts  of  summer.)  And  in  the  boat,,  to  my  eye  more 
beautiful  than  La  Dame  de  Beaute  herself,  there  sat — ■ 


THE    MISTS    OF   DEE  83 

conld  it  be?  Yes — my  old  companion  and  only  friend — 
sweetest  Maud  Lindsay,  she  who  had  married  Sholto 
McKim,  now  the  governor  of  Thrieve  and  war-captain  of 
all  the  levies  of  my  Lord  the  Earl  of  Douglas — ^most  dear 
and  notable,  both  of  them. 

"  Maud !  "  I  cried,  slipping  from  my  pony  and  running 
to  the  margent  to  meet  her.  I  was  about  to  clasp  her  in 
my  arms  as  I  used  to  do — as  vividly  and  rapturously  as  if 
we  had  been  lovers  of  only  a  handful  of  days.  But,  gaz- 
ing at  me,  she  seemed  to  be  amazed  somehow — I  cannot 
tell  why — perhaps  because  I  was  so  grown  and  tall — hav- 
ing gowns  of  silk  to  my  feet,  that  I  too  paused. 

And  then  to  my  utter  astonishment,  she  suddenly  bent 
down  upon  her  knee  and  seizing  my  hand,  she  kissed  it, 
weeping  and  murmuring  words  like  these :  "  Oh,  my 
gracious  lady,  you  have  grown  so  beautiful !  But  I  knew 
it !     I  knew  it  would  fall  out  so !  " 

Upon  which  I  lifted  her  up  and  gave  her  a  sound  shake 
of  anger.  For  I  have  a  quick  temper,  and  when  people 
do  not  do  just  what  I  want  when  I  want  it — well,  /  shake 
them ! 

So  I  shook  Maud. 

"  You  doting  silly  little  fool,"  I  cried,  "  do  you  not  know 
that  you  are  Maud — my  Maud,  whom  I  love  more  than 
a  world  of  men  ?  Why,  it  is  for  you  I  am  come  home,  do 
you  hear?  I  will  be  a  goose-girl  to  you,  if  you  will  but 
let  me  stay,  and  love  me  as  of  old.  I  will  nurse  the  last 
baby — though,  indeed,  really  I  love  them  not  greatly  till 
they  can  run  and  speak  (being  like  a  man  in  that)  !  I 
will  play  with  them  on  the  downs  by  the  Three  Thorns  and 
listen  to  the  clank  of  the  armourer's  hammer  if  Malise 
is  still  at  his  anvil.  But  I  will  not — I  swear  it — be  a 
Princess  and  a  great  lady  to  you !  " 

And  I  fairly  sprang  upon  her  neck,  putting  my  arms 
about  and  about — yes,  and  kissing  her  over  and  over  till 
she  was  sobbing  blindly  in  my  arms  without  let  or  stint, 
truce  or  limit,  happily  weeping — which  indeed  is  one  of 
woman's  greatest  luxuries,  till  at  last  she  becomes  old  and 
awaits  the  end.  Then  (hard  that  it  should  be  so)  the 
fount  of  her  tears  is  dried  up,  and  she  sorrows  like  a 


84  MAY    MARGARET 

man,  rendingly,  and  without  pleasure.  I  that  write  these 
things  know. 

However,  there,  on  the  bank  of  Dee  Water,  I  let  Maud 
weep.  And  it  did  her  good.  For  she  was  young  and 
fair,  and  there  were  many  there  to  see.  I  think  Sholto 
had  been  wont  to  stop  her,  thinking  (being  a  man,  and, 
therefore,  in  these  matters  a  fool!)  that  a  woman's  tears 
signified  unhappiness.  But  I  knew  my  Maud  better. 
And  so,  in  time  we  made  a  good  end,  with  Laurence 
waiting  behind  with  a  solemn  countenance.  Will  cutting 
impatiently  at  his  boot  with  his  riding  switch,  and  James 
all  upon  the  broad  grin.  (He  thought  he  understood 
these  things,  women,  and  so  forth — God  help  him !  He 
who  thinks  that  is  the  greatest  fool  of  all.)  And  lo! 
looking  up,  there,  on  the  opposite  bank,  was  Sholto,  look- 
ing like  a  prince,  all  in  black  armour,  with  the  warden's 
red  favour  on  his  helmet.  He  had  his  visor  down,  and 
at  the  head  of  his  gentlemen,  with  his  plume  sweeping  his 
shoulders,  he  appeared,  as  I  say,  like  a  ver}^  god.  And 
Maud,  wiping  her  tears,  whispered,  "  Yes,  I  dressed  him," 
in  answer  to  my  words  in  her  ear. 

We  went  across,  just  cousin  Will  and  I,  with  Maud 
(whom  I  would  not  for  anything  leave  behind)  holding 
my  hand  all  the  time  as  if  I  might  yet  escape  her.  And 
when  we  were  at  the  most  half  way  across — lo,  she  smiled 
with  eyes  still  wet,  and  it  was  like  the  sun  of  August 
shining   through   clouds   on   the   dripping   corn    stooks. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  again,  my  own  little 
Maid !  "  she  said,  and  kissed  me. 

"  Ah,"  I  cried  triumphantly,  "  that  is  better !  You  are 
my  Maud,  after  all — my  Maud — my  Maud !  " 

As  for  cousin  Will,  he  said  nothing,  only  with  his  eye 
ran  over  the  accountrements  of  the  knights  of  the  escort 
and  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  to  see  if  he  could  pick  a 
fault. 

But  he  had  Sholto  McKim  to  deal  with,  and  his  lieu- 
tenant, Andro  the  Penman.  So  all  was  as  in  such  a  case  it 
could  not  help  being.  And  then  as  the  boat  came  gently 
to  the  little  landing-place,  which  was  built  with  pier  and 
break-water,  all  complete,  like  a  tiny  harbour — my  dear 


THE    MISTS    OF   DEE  85 

brother  David  had  taken  a  pride  in  it — I  sprang  directly 
upon  my  own  Isle  of  Thrieve. 

At  the  same  moment  Sholto  leaped  from  his  horse. 
Andro  the  Penman  unlaced  his  helm,  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Douglas  Guard,  bare-headed,  kneeling  on  the  soft 
grass  of  the  river  brink,  presented  to  me  the  keys  of  the 
castle  upon  a  golden  paten. 

But  because  all  my  life  I  loved  not  ceremony,  I  only 
clapped  him  on  his  head — which  was  covered  all  over 
with  crisp  curls,  cut  short  so  that  his  head  would  not  be 
too  hot  within  the  leather-lined  shell  of  steel  they  call  a 
helmet,  and  bade  him  give  the  keys  to  William.  Which 
when  he  had  done,  he  kissed  my  hand  and  I  asked  him  if 
his  father  ever  beat  him  with  his  buckled  waist-strap 
nowadays? 

This  I  did  to  make  him  laugh.  For  ceremonies, 
especially  when  only  one  person  is  ceremonious,  are  awk- 
ward things,  and  it  needs  tact  to  get  quit  of  them  without 
the  hurting  of  feelings.  But  then — well,  you  learn  how 
to  manage  such  things  in  France.  A  convent  is  good  for 
so  much  at  any  rate. 

So  in  a  few  moments  we  were  all  talking  quickly 
together,  while  the  boat  went  back  to  bring  over  James 
together  with  Laurence  and  his  people.  My  cousin  Will 
did  not  say  much,  but  then  no  one  expected  it  of  him. 
When  he  had  shaken  hands  with  Sholto,  kissed  Maud 
Lindsay's  hand,  nodded  to  Andro  the  Penman  and  his 
brother,  forthwith  he  devoted  himself  to  the  examination 
of  every  part  of  the  architecture  of  the  castle  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  it  before — the  outer  works,  the  moat,  the  great 
drawbridge,  the  flanking  towers,  the  wall  of  enceinture, 
and  the  keep  with  its  high  gallery  of  wood,  set  on  wooden 
beams. 

I  could  see  him  shake  his  wise  head.  There  was  in  the 
matter  of  shaking  no  one  like  Will.  You  could  always 
tell  when  he  had  an  idea.  He  shook  it  as  a  terrier  shakes 
a  rat,  as  the  mill-hopper  doth  the  corn. 

"  That  will  never  do — never,"  I  heard  him  mutter,  "  we 
must  have  them  of  stone — as  at  Amboise.  At  the  first 
red-hot  ball  from  a  mortar  they  would  be  in  a  blaze !  " 


86  MAY    MARGARET 

From  that  I  could  discern  very  clearly  the  direction  of 
his  thoughts. 

So  Maud  and  I  were  left  alone,  Sholto  directing  his 
gentlemen  of  the  Douglas  Guard  to  ride  on  either  side  as 
an  escort.  It  was  good  to  see  him  mount  his  horse  as 
easily  as  of  yore,  even  though  in  full  armour,  which 
showed  me  that,  though  the  father  of  a  family,  he  had 
lost  none  of  his  old  active  ways.  And  indeed,  as  the 
future  proved,  Sholto  had  only  grown  stronger  and  firmer 
in  his  seat,  so  that  even  James  was  no  longer  a  match  for 
him  at  the  spear-driving  when  they  tried  it  in  the  lists  of 
Thrieve  Isle. 

Then  Maud  went  on  to  tell  me  how  each  of  her  babes 
was  more  wonderful  than  the  others.  She  spoke  of 
Marcelle,  the  eldest,  who  was  learned  in  broidery  work 
and  could  read  like  clerk  Laurence  himself;  of  Cuthbert 
and  Bride,  the  twins,  who  for  ever  fought  and  harcelled 
each  other,  even  as  their  father  and  uncle  had  done  about 
the  old  forge  on  the  bank  of  Carlinwark.  Then  there  was 
Ulric  and  little  David,  the  one  falling  over  the  twitch- 
grass  of  the  meadow-land  and  digging  at  the  sandy 
rabbit  holes  like  a  scent  dog,  while  as  yet,  David,  being  the 
youngest,  was  content  to  sit  on  the  lap  of  his  mother 
solemnly  contemplating  the  grey  walls  of  Archibald  the 
Grim,  where  so  many  generations  of  McKims  had  done 
their  service  to  as  many  generations  of  Douglases. 

At  last,  at  last — there  was  the  drawbridge  coming  down ! 
But  another  porter  louted  low  where  surly  old  A'Cormack 
had  so  long  turned  his  great  creaking  wheel.  The 
willows  along  the  waterside,  the  garden  inside  with  its 
homely  flowers,  and  without,  that  with  the  homelier  plants 
for  the  pot!  Thrieve!  Thrieve!  Could  ever  any  place 
be  so  dear?  It  was  good  to  see  even  the  well  in  the 
courtyard,  with  the  great  beech  twisting  about  it,  and 
then,  running  to  the  edge,  to  mark,  as  of  yore,  the 
dripping  leathern  plants — hartstongues  they  call  them. 
They  were  the  same,  only  a  little  longer,  a  little  more 
leathery,  and  a  little  more  drippy  than  I  had  imagined 
when  I  thought  of  them  in  the  convent,  which  I  did  often 
in  chapel  on  hot  afternoons. 


THE    MISTS    OF   DEE  87 

Meanwhile,  Will  had  gone  about  the  house  and  about  it, 
had  examined  the  defences  in  detail,  with  an  eye  fresh 
from  Loches  and  Amboise,  picking  out  weak  points, 
noting  what  must  be  altered,  what  must  be  done  away 
with,  what  had  grown  antiquated,  and,  generally,  how  the 
naturally  strong  position  of  the  castle  could  best  be 
strengthened. 

After  a  while  he  strode  into  the  courtyard  with  the 
scowling  brow  which  with  him  only  betokened  deep 
thought.  I  was  holding  up  Ulric,  that  sturdy  scion  of 
the  family  of  the  McKims,  a  lusty  tribe  enough;  but, 
i'faith,  at  the  sight  of  Will's  dark  face  he  dropped  his 
head  on  my  neck  and  howled  most  unvalorously.  Maud 
laughed  a  little  at  some  inarticulate  words  which  came 
from  his  baby  lips. 

"  What  does  he  say?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  He  says,"  murmured  Maud,  "  that  he  will  tell  his 
father  of  the  naughty  black  man  who  wants  to  carry 
Ulric  away !  " 

I  sighed. 

"  I  wish  it  were  only  Ulric  that  Cousin  William  has  it  in 
his  head  to  take  away !  "  I  cried. 

At  that  moment  came  Will  up,  stalking  over  the  flagged 
pavement,  solemn  as  a  stork  in  armour. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  as  if  he  asked,  "  What's  o'clock?  " 
I   forgot.     You  have  not  yet  named   a  day   for  our 


"  JL    lur^i 
Tiarnage  " 


Why,"  said  I,  "  how  am  I  to  dare  ?  I  might  cross  your 
wondrous  devices.  Let  Your  Highness  choose  your  own 
time !  Say,  shall  it  be  some  morning  a  few  years  hence, 
when  you  have  no  plans  to  make,  no  rent-rolls  to  revise, 
no  troops  of  horse  to  pass  in  review,  when  all  your  archi- 
tects and  builders  have  ceased  from  troubling,  and  there 
is  not  even  an  arrow-shooting  or  a  wapenshaw  in  all  the 
Douglas  country  from  south  to  north,  when  all  the  thieves 
are  hanged  out  of  Annandale,  and  there  is  not  a  cow  in 
her  wrong  byre  from  Edenmouth  to  Berwick  bound, 
when  you  are  the  King  of  the  King  of  Scots,  and  Lord 
of  the  Lords  of  the  north — then,  unless  you  have  an 
unproven  hawk  to  fly  at  a  heron  or  a  main  of  lusty  cocks 


88  MAY    MARGARET 

to  fight,  or  a  leash  of  dogs  to  take  out  for  the  coursing- 
why,  good  sir,  of  vour  pleasure,  will  you  please  to  marry 
me?" 

But  Will  took  it  all  quite  solemnly,  or  at  least  appeared 
to  do  so. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  this  is  Wednesday — shall  we. 
say  Saturday?  There  is  nothing  to  take  me  away  from 
Thrieve  before  that." 

I  let  the  boy  drop  on  the  grass  in  my  horror.  His  mother 
ran  to  rescue  him,  but  Master  Ulric  was  noways  alarmed. 
He  only  rolled  over,  and  putting  his  great  toe  in  his 
mouth,  lay  regarding  the  sky. 

"  No,  Will,"  I  said,  "  be  good  enough  to  remember  that 
I  am  not  a  parcel  of  goods  to  be  handed  over  the  counter, 
nor  yet  a  bullock  to  be  delivered  three  days  after  sale, 
sound  in  wind  and  limb.  Give  me  a  month,  if  it  were 
only,  like  the  daughter  of  Jephthah,  to  bewail  my " 

But  I  did  not  get  time  to  finish  my  quotation. 

"  Child,"  he  cried,  for  the  first  time  visibly  angered, 
"  you  do  not  know  what  you  say !  This  thing  is  the  will 
of  God." 

"  It  is  the  will  of  William,  Earl  of  Douglas,  which  is 
considerably  more  to  the  point/'  I  retorted  mockingly. 
But  he  did  not  heed.  It  took  more  than  the  flout  of  a 
girl  to  move  Will  of  Douglas  and  Avondale  from  his 
purpose. 

"  Then,  I  take  it,"  he  repeated,  as  it  were  extracting  the 
kernel  of  meaning  and  leaving  the  husk  of  words  as  of 
no  value,  "  you  are  willing  that  we  should  be  married  in  a 
month ! " 

"  If  it  is  His  Majesty's  good  and  gracious  pleasure,"  I 
said,  "  and  he  happens  to  have  nothing  better  to  do !  " 

And  I  made  him  a  low  reverence  with  the  most  provok- 
ing mock  humility. 

But  I  might  as  well  have  tried  my  agaceries  on  the 
blue  ridge  of  Ben  Gairn,  steady  on  the  horizon  of  the 
south. 

"  So  be  it !  "  he  said,  and  turning  sharp  on  his  heel  he 
went  out. 

"  I  declare,"  cried  Maud,  "  your  bridegroom  has  gone  to 


THE    MISTS    OF   DEE  89 

examine  the  state  of  the  water-defences  at  the  southern 
end  of  the  Isle !  " 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  I  retorted ;  "  he  had  them  on  his 
mind  all  the  time." 

"  Margaret !  "  she  cried,  pained  at  my  manner  of  speech 
of  William  Douglas. 

"  Yes,  Maud !  "  I  answered  in  the  same  tone,  nodding 
as  one  would  say,  "  there  it  is !  Make  what  you  like  of 
it!" 


CHAPTER     XII 

WHAT   MAUD   LINDSAY  TAUGHT   ME 

It  was  not  long  before  I  had  made  my  case  plain  to  Maud 
Lindsay.  All  my  infancy  and  childhood  she  had  been  my 
companion.  In  the  time  of  De  Retz,  she  and  I  had  been 
shut  up  in  the  White  Tower  together,  and  at  the  last 
had  paced  hand  in  hand  the  dread  approaches  to  the  Iron 
Altar — as  has  already  been  told  in  certain  chronicles 
entitled  "  The  Black  Douglas." 

So  to  me  Maud  was  no  new  friend — no  confidante  of  a 
day. 

Thrieve  itself  had  grown  a  new  place — what  with  the 
merry  chink  of  children's  voices  coming  up  from  the 
green,  and  the  rotund  twins  trying  on  pieces  of  armour 
in  the  great  hall  of  the  guard  amid  the  riotous  laughters 
of  the  men-at-arms. 

More  than  once  Sholto  had  declared  that  this  Thrieve 
was  no  proper  nursery  for  women  and  babes.  He  had 
even  desired  during  the  presence  of  the  Avondale 
Douglases  and  myself  at  the  Castle  to  take  Maud  away 
to  the  Three  Thorns,  where  my  cousin  Earl  William  had 
caused  them  to  repair  the  old  cottage  for  his  father,  IMalise 
McKim,  loving  the  situation  better  than  the  forty-shilling 
lands  of  Mollance  with  the  grand  new  house  thereon, 
which  had  been  forced  upon  the  armourer  for  his  great 
and  notable  services  to  the  family  of  Douglas. 

So  we  two,  just  Maud  and  I,  went  out  on  the  balcony  of 
wood  which  opens  upon  the  castle  wall  near  the  top,  and 
makes  a  promenade  about  all  four  sides.  But  that  was 
our  favourite  gossiping  place  which  looked  towards  the 
south.  William  was,  indeed,  determined  to  new-make 
the  higher  battlements  in  stone,  as  well  as  the  wooden 
galleries.  But  in  the  meantime  we  loved  the  old  brown 
logs,  rough-hewn  and  weather-stained,  with  the  marks  of 
the  knives  of  three  or  four  generations  of  Douglases, 

90 


WHAT    MAUD    LINDSAY   TAUGHT    ME    91 

making  transfixed  hearts  therein,  together  with  the  ini- 
tials of  their  sweethearts — the  which,  indeed,  with  the 
flourishing  of  their  own  signature,  was  mostly  all  the 
learning  they  ever  had.  For,  though  we  have  had  both 
abbots  and  bishops  to  our  name,  the  Douglases  of  the 
Black  could  not  be  called  a  book-learned  race. 

As  we  sat,  Maud  worked  busily  turning  her  head  from 
side  to  side  like  a  painter  in  a  church,  to  observe  the  effect 
of  her  dainty  confectionery  of  lace  and  fine  linen.  As  for 
me  I  looked  over  the  river  to  the  green  Kelton  fields  and 
the  swelling  ridges  of  Arieland.  All  was  sweet  and 
covered  with  a  great  peace  :  or  so  at  least  it  seemed  to  me 
at  that  time. 

Who  could  have  supposed  that  the  slender  figure  yonder, 
clad  in  black,  taking  quick  alert  strides,  with  Sholto  and 
Murdoch  the  master-builder  a  little  behind — now  down 
by  the  great  moat,  pointing  with  ready  index-finger 
wherever  masonry  was  to  be  strengthened  or  water  deep- 
ened— now  erect  as  a  spear  against  the  sky-line  of  the 
topmost  tower — everywhere  planning,  deciding,  register- 
ing, commanding, — was  to  bring  the  Douglas  line  to  its 
highest  glory,  and  by  his  death  to  sink  it  into  utter  ex- 
tinction. 

It  was  long  before  either  Maud  or  I  spoke.  I  think 
both  of  us  were  somewhat  unwilling  to  begin.  I  had  left 
her  a  girl,  she  was  now  a  matron.  She  had  last  seen  me 
a  child.  Now  below  us,  there  was  my  husband  of  a 
month  hence,  walking  about — and — never  giving  me  so 
much  as  a  thought  or  a  glance. 

It  was  Maud  who  spoke  first. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  softly,  "  are  you  happy?  " 

I  think  that  I  laughed.  But  somehow  it  was  not  a  laugh 
that  sounded  as  it  ought. 

"  Happy  ?  "  I  cried.  "  That  is  a  strange  word,  Maud 
Lindsay,  to  be  speaking  to  me !  Should  not  the  bride  of 
Will  of  Avondale  and  Douglas  be  happy?  Have  I  not 
looked  forward  to  this  ever  since  I  could  remember?" 

Maud  shook  her  head,  very  slowly  and  soberly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  sure,  little  Maid,"  she  said — it  was 
her  old  pet  name  for  me.     "  I  am  not  fond  of  these  agree- 


92  MAY    MARGARET 

ments  between  high  contracting  parties.  They  are  Hkely 
to  leave  love  out  of  account." 

"  But  you  knew  your  Sholto  a  long  time  ? "  I  said 
sharply. 

Maud  laughed  a  laugh — a  laugh — oh,  quite  different 
from  mine.     Even  I  could  hear  that. 

"  Ah,  but,"  she  said,  "  that  was  because  I  never  really 
made  up  my  mind  to  marry  Sholto  till — till — well,  I  stood 
with  him  before  the  priest." 

"  Fykes  and  fiddlesticks !  "  I  cried,  "  how  dare  you  tell 
me  lies,  Maud.  I  was,  indeed,  a  child  at  the  time — but  I 
have  a  memory !  So  have  a  care !  I  know  that  you  had 
your  mind  made  up  long  before.  Do  you  remember 
that  night?" 

She  put  her  hand  over  my  mouth  and  looked  over  her 
shoulder  smiling. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said,  "  I  give  in ;  but,  all  the  same,  the 
thing  is  true  enough.  What  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
about  was  only  that  Sholto  should  not  marry  anyone  but 
me!" 

And  as  she  said  this  she  laughed  again,  a  mellow 
retrospective  laugh,  which  somehow  thrilled  me  between 
the  heart  and  the  throat,  and  then  presently  left  me 
saddened  with  the  sense  of  lacking  I  knew  not  what. 

Why  should  this  woman,  the  wife  of  a  blacksmith's  son, 
be  so  much  happier  than  I  could  ever  be?  It  came  nigh 
to  making  me  desperate. 

It  was  not  Sholto  I  wanted — of  course  not.  It  was  not 
Laurence.  It  was  not  even  James  Douglas.  It  was  no 
man  in  particular.  God  knows — none.  It  was  only  the 
need  to  be  loved,  as  women  are  loved,  for  whom  there  is 
but  one  man  in  the  world. 

I  wept  quietly.  Maud  let  me  alone.  She  was  a  wise 
woman.  She  let  me  alone  to  ease  myself  with  tears — 
many  tears. 

"  Why  is  it,"  I  wailed,  unable  long  to  keep  silence, 
"  why  do  others  have  so  much  without  knowing  or  caring, 
while  I  so  little — worse  than  nothing,  indeed?  " 

Then  all  at  once  Maud  let  the  rich  frillings  and  dentella- 
tions  she  had  been  putting  together,  fall  to  the  ground. 


WHAT    MAUD    LINDSAY   TAUGHT    ME    93 

She  slipped  them  off  her  knee  as  if  they  had  been  horse- 
cloths, and  came  directly  and  kneeled  down  beside  me, 
with  her  arms  close  held  about  me. 

At  first  I  pushed  her  away.  I  could  be  a  pig  when  I 
chose — but  not  for  long. 

"  You  are  like  the  rest,"  I  said ;  "  you  come  to  tell  me 
how  noble  a  man — how  worthy,  how  truly  like  Solomon, 
King  of  the  Jews,  arrayed  in  all  his  glory  is  my  Lord 
William  of  Douglas !  " 

It  was  pettish,  I  know — like  a  child — like  me.  But 
Maud  never  so  much  as  moved  her  finger. 

"  Little  one,"  she  said  gently,  "  when  you  were  used  to 
quarrel  with  your  puppet,  did  I  pick  it  up  after  you  had 
thrown  it  on  the  ground  and  set  about  trying  to  convince 
you  that  there  was  never  such  a  beautiful  puppet  in  the 
world,  so  delightful  a  plaything?  No,  I  knew  better.  I 
put  it  away  till  you  yourself  asked  for  it !  " 

Somehow  the  idea  made  me  laugh. 

"  Oh,  our  Will  a  plaything !  Look  at  him,  Maud !  I 
pray  you  look  at  him  !  " 

And 'still  laughing,  I  leaned  over  the  wooden  balcony. 
There  he  was — his  head  a-poke  before  him — eager  as  a 
sleuth-hound  on  the  scent — the  master-builder  following 
meekly  after  with  Sholto,  the  last  not  too  much  engaged 
to  wave  his  hand  to  us,  and,  seeing  Maud's  face,  to 
throw  us  a  kiss  also  balconywards  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Look  at  my  plaything,"  I  laughed,  "  my  plaything  that 
I  have  thrown  down — only  that  I  have  never  taken  it  up ! 
Ask  for  it,  indeed !  Not  if  you  locked  it  away  for  a 
thousand  years !  There  he  is — my  father-confessor  in 
armour — my  black  crow  in  nestingtime — see  him  gather- 
ing the  sticks — see — see  !  " 

And,  indeed,  at  that  moment  William  Douglas  did  stop 
and  pick  a  piece  of  stick  which  a  careless  carpenter  had 
left  behind.  With  great  solemnity,  all  absent  of  mind 
as  if  he  had  been  thinking  of  something  else,  he  went  to 
the  woodpile  and  dropped  it  upon  a  heap  of  kindling 
chips. 

"  Ho,  by  St.  Bride,  saved ! "  I  cried,  "  now  he  will  sleep 
sound.     There  is  the  thousandth  part  of  a  farthing  saved ! 


94  MAY    MARGARET 

Ah,  good  crow — valiant  crow — crow  of  parts!  Who 
would  not  wed  a  crow  like  that?     Ah,  ah!  " 

And  I  laui2:hed  till  I  sobbed,  and  then  sobbed  till  I 
laughed,  stretching  ever  further  over  the  balcony  to  see 
what  he  would  do  next,  and  pointing  at  him  through  my 
streaming  tears,  as  I  cried  helplessly,  "  Oh,  stop  me. 
stop  me,  stop  me,  Maud !  Why  don't  you  stop  me  ?  I 
shall  die !  He  is  so  like  a — no,  I  will  not  say  it.  Yes, 
I  will  stop.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Maud.  I  think 
I  am  not  myself — overwrought !    But,  oh " 

And  then  I  went  back  again  into  the  same  helpless 
laughter. 

Then  Maud,  taking  upon  her  the  old  authority,  which 
when  a  child  I  had  never  thought  of  disputing,  lifted  me 
in  her  strong,  soft,  motherly  arms  and  compelled  me  to  lie 
down  in  her  chamber.  It  was  nearer  than  my  own, 
though  smaller.  The  window  looked  to  the  north,  and 
from  it  you  could  see  the  green  double  bosoms  of  Cairns- 
more  and  Carsphairn. 

Here  she  put  me  to  bed  like  an  infant,  locking  the  door 
inside  against  intrusion,  bathing  my  forehead,  pressing 
her  cheek  against  mine  and  murmuring  tenderly,  just  as 
she  used  to  do  in  the  White  Tower  of  Machecoul  when 
the  nights  were  hot  and  the  Terror  near  at  hand. 

And,  being  quite  tired  out,  I  lay  still,  with  Maud  Lind- 
say's arm  about  my  neck,  and  her  fingers  gently  moving 
among  my  hair,  till  with  a  sense  of  utter  lassitude  and  a 
certain  slow-coming  peace  of  well-being,  I  fell  on  sleep, 
long  and  dulcet.  It  was  good  somehow,  for  anyone  to  be 
with  Maud.  That  was  all.  No  wonder  her  babes  adored 
her.  At  that  moment  I  felt  like  one  of  her  children 
myself,  though  by  the  calendar  she  was  not  more  than  ten 
years  older  than  I. 

I  awoke.  The  world  slowly  re-formed  itself,  emerging 
hazily,  not  all  at  once — rather  a  bit  here  and  a  bit  there. 
I  noted,  as  in  a  dream,  the  oak  of  a  child's  crib,  like  that 
in  which  I  had  slept  long  ago  when  my  brothers  were 
alive  and  my  mother  gave  me  up  to  Maud  Lindsay  to 
take  care  of — pretty  Maud  from  the  North,  that  flouted 
all  the  men  near  and  far  who  came  a-wooing  her. 


WHAT    AIAUD    LINDSAY    TAUGHT    ME    95 

Then  my  eye  fell  upon  a  wreath  of  withered  flowers, 
then  came  the  keen  blue  edge  of  a  sword,  the  crossbars 
of  a  helmet,  and,  strange  to  be  seen,  thrown  over  it, 
some  of  that  dainty  dentelling  of  white,  fine  as  mist, 
which  Maud  had  been  making.  There  was  also  the  scent 
of  a  woman's  chamber — not  the  cell  of  a  pensionnaire  at 
a  convent,  not  even  the  great  bald  spaces  of  the  guest- 
chambers  of  Cour  Cheverney,  with  the  red  creepers 
flowering  about  the  windows  and  the  Judas  tree  budding 
purple  all  along  its  branches  in  the  court  beneath. 

It  was  different,  somehow.  All  smelt  of  home,  yet  was 
not  somehow.  These  things  were  Sholto's  and  Maud's — 
together.  Together !  Would  it  ever  come  that  I  would 
see  William  Douglas's  helm  and  gloves  thrown  thus  on 
a  chair  with  my  kirtlings  of  silk  and  lace  dcntelles  over 
it  ?  No — a  thousand  times  no !  He  could  never  be  to 
me — this!  Anything  else — a  friend,  a  companion,  a 
guide,  and  adviser — yes !     But  this — No ! 

I  raised  myself,  affrighted  like  one  who  starts  from  an 
ill  dream  and  desires  to  sleep  no  more  lest  it  should  return. 
The  thing  had  never  come  to  me  thus  clearly.  But  I 
saw  now  what  I  had  never  realised  before — the  terrifying 
Solitude,  the  appalling  Nearness  of  Two — a  man  and  a 
woman  left  alone  for  life — ^by  the  mumble  of  a  priest, 
by  the  will  of  a  dead  man,  or  by  the  land-hunger,  the 
power-thirst  of  one  who  cared  for  women  only  as  so 
many  steps  on  the  ladder  of  his  greatness. 

"  No— no— no !  " 

I  called  the  words  out,  like  one  starting  back  from  dead- 
liest terror.  And  as  I  said  the  words  I  felt  about  me 
loving  arms,  drawing  me,  heard  a  voice  sweet  and  sooth- 
ing as  the  hum  of  bees  in  clover  on  June  meadow-lands. 

"  Margaret,  Margaret — do  not  fear !  I  am  with  you !  " 
It  was  the  voice  of  Maud  Lindsay.  "  Be  my  own  little 
lass,  my  treasure,  my  bairn  as  of  old.  It  shall  not  come 
to  you — that  which  fears  you.  The  back  is  made  for  the 
burden ;  and,  as  I  love  you  (yes — the  first-born  of  my 
bairns  no  better!)  you  shall  not  marry  a  man  whom  you 
do  not  love." 

"But  I  must — I  must" — I  again  speaking  (I  mind  it 


96  MAY   MARGARET 

well),  in  a  panting  whisper  strange  even  to  myself,  as  I 
sat  up  in  bed — "  it  is  fixed  for  a  month  hence.  Did  you 
ever  know  of  William  of  Douglas  and  Avondale  going 
back  on  his  word?  Besides,  has  he  not  sent  Laurence 
for  the  Pope's  permission — and  blessing?  Figure  it  to 
yourself,  Maud — the  Holy  Father's  blessing!  He  should 
have  said  his  curse — the  Greater  Anathema  the  Bald  Cat 
used  to  prate  about  at  the  Convent." 

But  still  Maud  kept  her  arm  about  me,  sisterly  and 
motherly  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

"  Listen,"  she  said.  "  I  am  but  poor  Maud  Lindsay, 
who  married  the  man  she  loved,  Sholto,  the  blacksmith's 
son  of  Thrieve :  I,  who  might  have  married  my  cousin, 
Lord  John,  the  Tiger  Crawford,  and,  perhaps,  healed  a 
breach  into  which  brave  men  have  poured  their  blood.  I 
married  Sholto  because  I  wished  it  so.  Well,  hear  me 
out,  I  am  not  Will  of  Douglas  and  Avondale,  but  I  have 
a  will  of  my  own.  I  have  never  wished  greatly  for  any- 
thing in  my  life,  never  prayed  for  anything  greatly 
(which  is  just  the  better  way  of  wishing  for  it)  without 
getting  it  at  last.  Perhaps  not  exactly  as  I  figured  it  to 
myself,  when  I  prayed  and  when  I  wished,  but  in  a  wiser 
and  wholesomer  way  !     Yes,  always !  " 

I  formed  my  lips  to  answer. 

"  Nay — hush — not  yet.  Do  not  speak.  Let  me  say  my 
say  out !  So,  trust  me  when  I  say  that  happiness  will 
come  for  you — or,  at  least,  the  happiness  of  making  the 
man  you  love  less  sad.  That  is  the  pleasure  most  often 
granted  to  women  in  place  of  their  own  proper  joy. 
Perhaps  it  will  come  to  you  thus.  But  that  it  will  come, 
be  sure — be  very  sure — I,  Maud  Lindsay  tell  you !  Now, 
little  one,  have  I  said  one  word  you  thought  I  would 
say,  given  you  any  old-wife,  good-my-gossip  counsels, 
preached  the  orthodox  submission  of  maids  ?  '  Love  will 
come  ' — they  say  '  come  with  the  children  ' !  Bah  !  I 
know  different.  Nothing  tries  the  love  of  a  woman  for 
a  man  more  than  the  re-repetition  of  the  Eden  curse ;  but 
where  love  is,  to  begin  with — small  as  the  mustard  seed 
that  grows  into  the  greatest  of  all  herbs,  as  Father  Ignace 
preached  about  once  on  Pacque  Sunday — all  things  are 


WHAT    MAUD    LINDSAY   TAUGHT    ME    97 

possible.  Bide,  my  bairn.  I  know  William  of  Douglas 
far  better  than  you.  I  know  him.  There  is  a  shell  over 
his  heart,  hard  Hke  the  nether  millstone;  but  the  kernel 
within  is  true,  and  great — and  unselfish !  " 

"  Nay,"  I  cried,  grasping  her  by  the  wrist,  "  the  other 
qualities  perhaps,  but  not  that — not  unselfish !  " 

"And  unselfish!"  Maud  repeated  with  emphasis,  and, 
kissing  me,  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE     LAST    GRAIXS     IN     THE    SAND-GLASS 

That  month  fled  all  too  fast  away.  Never  had  there 
been  known  a  more  perfect  July.  The  scarlet  poppies 
overleaped  the  corn  already  mellowing'  on  the  sandier 
knowcs.  Deep  and  lush  grew  the  meadow-grass  in 
which  the  Thrieve  mowers,  seeking  far  and  near  winter 
forage  for  the  horses  of  Sholto's  guard,  found  (some- 
times to  their  cost)  the  wild  bees'  honey. 

The  hills  in  the  mid-distance  began  to  turn  a  ruddier 
purple,  as  the  heather  flushed  for  that  more  glorious  har- 
vest of  the  eye,  which  usually  in  Galloway  comes  rather 
with  the  oats  than  with  meadow  hay.  And  the  days 
when  I  awaited  the  outcome  of  my  talk  with  Maud  Lind- 
say fled  also  too  fast  away,  without,  as  it  appeared  to  me, 
anything  being  accomplished. 

Moreover,  Laurence  had  forsaken  me.  Whether  it 
was  the  near  approach  of  my  marriage  day,  or  the  need 
(which  he  asserted)  for  his  presence  upon  his  domain 
abbatical  of  Sweetheart,  I  cannot  tell.  But  certain  it  is 
that  he  left  Thrieve  the  emptier  for  the  want  of  his 
boyish  face  and  bright  smile. 

But  James  remained.  And  the  fates  of  the  life  of 
woman — or  some  other  organising  power,  at  that  time 
unseen  by  me — drew  us  more  and  more  together.  And, 
indeed,  there  is  little  to  do  for  such  a  man  as  James 
Douglas  alx)ut  a  castle,  save  to  tilt  at  the  ring  and  try  his 
strength  at  the  crossbars  above  the  dungeon  mouth.  But 
since  he  could  lift  up  two  stalwart  guardsmen  by  sheer 
muscle,  the  one  clinging  to  the  other's  feet  out  of  the 
deeps  of  the  old  cell  built  in  the  north-west  corner  of  the 
guards'  hall,  there  were  few  that  cared  to  compete  with 
him.  All  the  same  he  would  bring  me  down  to  see  him 
do  it. 

98 


LAST   GRAINS    IN   THE   SAND-GLASS     99 

On  the  other  hand,  Will  coursed  everywhere,  like  a 
questing  hound — to  Douglas  Castle,  to  Annandale,  across 
the  West  and  Middle  Marches,  athwart  the  brown  barren 
moors  to  visit  his  Earldom  of  Wigton — or,  rather,  that 
which  would  be  his  when  he  married  me.  The  most 
feck  of  the  days  he  would  be  up  and  away  while  the  light 
was  still  pearly  and  pink  in  the  East. 

Often  I  would  wake  in  the  dawn  to  the  clink  of  horses' 
hoofs  far  down  in  the  court.  I  would  hear  the  men  of 
the  escort  standing  to  their  arms  ready  to  mount.  A 
word  of  command — that  of  Sholto,  who  rode  ever  at  the 
earl's  right  hand,  and  then,  with  a  creak  and  a  clang, 
down  the  drawbridge  would  go.  To  that  succeeded  a 
hollow  rumble,  which  was  the  feet  of  the  horses  passing 
over,  a  neigh  of  some  charger  left  lonesome  in  stall,  and 
then  for  another  day  silence  settled  down  upon  all  the 
precincts  of  the  great  old  castle  of  Archibald  the  Grim. 

I  cannot  think  how  it  was  that  James  and  I  gat  into  the 
habit  of  going  to  the  little  bushy  "  bouroch  "  (called  the 
Lady's  Bower)  at  the  northerly  end  of  the  island.  It 
came  about  first,  I  think,  that  he  might  show  me  the  dam- 
age wrought  by  the  great  flood  of  a  year  agone,  which 
happened  when  I  was  still  in  France.  He  pointed  out, 
too,  how,  by  embanking  with  solid  stone  and  lime,  like 
that  which  is  to  be  seen  in  Holland,  William  had  strength- 
ened not  only  the  island  but  all  the  defences  on  that  side. 

Now  all  the  trees  had  been  cut  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
castle,  for  the  sake  of  security  in  the  case  of  siege.  But 
at  the  northern  end  of  the  island  there  were  many — 
though,  alas !  sadly  thinned  in  the  late  troubles. 

But  there  was  our  bower  in  the  midst  of  them,  where 
with  the  river  blue  and  steady  before  us,  wide  almost  as 
an  arm  of  the  sea,  and  scarce  touched  all  that  high 
summer  time  by  a  single  purl  of  wind,  we  two  would  sit 
on  a  rough  seat  which  James  had  knocked  together  with 
driftwood  and  chance  roofing  beams  floated  down  for  the 
new  stabling. 

Now  Maud  Lindsay  was  much  with  me  in  the  after- 
noons, but  in  the  mornings  she  had  the  housewifery  of  the 
castle  to  attend  to — napery  and  suchlike — while  in  the 


loo  MAY    MARGARET 

evening  she  used  to  sing  her  babies  to  sleep  as  her  good 
way  was.  So  it  was  chiefly  in  the  forenoons  and  in  the 
evenings  that  James  and  I  strolled  to  the  Lady's  Bower. 

Indeed,  we  had  no  great  distance  to  traverse,  for  the 
whole  island  does  not  extend  more  than  half  a  mile  from 
stem  to  stern,  being,  as  one  might  say,  a  long,  narrow 
vessel  anchored  in  the  mid-stream  of  the  Water  of  the 
Dee,  the  castle-keep  set  on  the  western  bulwarks  and 
somewhat  towards  the  stern.  So  Thrieve  was,  and  so, 
indeed,  it  is  to  this  day. 

Only  James  is  no  longer  there.  William  devises  no 
new  defences,  and  the  King's  bullocks  profane  my  Lady's 
Bower,  which  in  the  countryside  clatter  is  now  said  to  have 
been  named  after  me.  But  it  was  not,  taking  its  name 
from  that  Lady  Sybilla  who  came  from  France  and  drew 
into  her  toils  my  brother  William,  as  hath  aforetime  been 
told.  -  But  I  have  my  own  tale  to  tell,  and  it  waits  my  pen. 

Now  it  is  always  ill  giving  a  reason  why  a  woman  loves 
this  man  and  not  that.  For  the  most  part,  indeed,  she 
would  be  hard  pushed  to  tell  herself.  And  so  it  was  with 
my  feeling  for  James  Douglas.  Sometimes  I  liked  him, 
and  again  at  others  I  could  not  abide  that  he  should  come 
near  me. 

But  it  was  all  the  same  to  James  whether  I  sulked  or 
smiled.  He  had  his  answer  ready,  his  excuse  to  his  hand. 
He  could  be  respectful  and  grave,  quick-witted  and  care- 
lessly gay,  or  simply  companionable  and  full  of  gossip 
as  an  ale-wife,  all  in  the  space  of  an  hour.  He  had  the 
natural  gift  of  taking  a  woman's  humour  and  making  it 
his.  Will  knew  no  humour  but  his  own,  and  if  it  chanced 
you  were  not  of  it,  then  you  passed  out  of  the  world  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned. 

Did  James  Douglas  make  love  to  me  wittingly?  Curi- 
ous and  still  unanswered  the  query !  Did  Maud  know 
or  suspect?  And  in  any  case,  what  did  she  mean  by 
encouraging  me  to  hope  for  a  love  which  the  future 
would  bring  me?  She  herself  had  no  great  liking,  even 
then,  for  James  Douglas;  yet  at  Castle  Machecoul  he  had 
saved  her,  as  he  had  saved  me.  But  women's  likings  (I 
say  it  again)  go  not  by  these  things. 


LAST   GRAINS    IN    THE    SAND-GLASS    loi 

Yes,  I  liked  James — first  of  all,  I  think,  because  I 
knew  that  I  ought  not.  Then  he  was  a  great,  blond, 
towsy-haired  giant,  with  the  arm  of  Samson  and  the 
short  thick  beard  of  the  statues  on  the  King's  new  house 
at  Striveling.  When,  for  sport,  one  struck  his  breast, 
it  was  like  beating  a  drum,  and  when  he  struck  back,  the 
stricken  was  carried  out  and  had  water  poured  over  him. 

Then,  he  was  fair,  like  his  father  and  most  of  the  Avon- 
dales — I,  black  of  the  black,  a  right  Galloway  Douglas. 
But  mostly  these  things  go  by  contraries — the  fair  young 
Davids  mating  with  the  maids,  dark  but  comely,  out  of 
the  patched  tents  of  Kedar  and  the  tans  of  dusky  Se- 
pharvaim. 

Yet  I  never  felt  that  James  Douglas  really  mastered 
me.  Will  could  have  done  it,  if  he  had  chosen,  mayhap. 
But  James  rather  herded  me  with  the  silent  discretion  of 
a  well-trained  sheep-dog,  which  meets  and  holds  but 
never  chases  or  frightens  a  refractory  charge. 

Never  absent,  never  late,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  a 
twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  such  a  sunny  helpfulness 
in  his  every  action,  small  wonder  that  James  Douglas  had 
been  fortunate  all  his  life.  He  was  a  twin  of  the  one 
birth  with  his  brother  Archibald,  and  only  the  favour  of 
his  mother  and  the  indulgence  of  his  father  had  given 
him,  by  solemn  declarator,  the  position  of  elder  brother 
and  heir  male  to  the  title  and  estates. 

Of  his  weaknesses  and  sins  I  need  not  speak  here.  They 
have  entered  into  judgment  with  him  while  yet  he 
breathes  the  upper  air.  But,  nevertheless,  there  was 
much  lovable,  much  gracious,  much  heartful  and  hope- 
inspiring  about  James  Douglas,  and  though  I  have  suf- 
fered many  things,  God  be  witness,  I  say  no  different 
even  unto  this  day. 

Above  all  men  generous,  ready  to  go  out  of  his  way  to 
do  a  service  to  any,  great  or  small,  he  yet  loved  the  praise 
of  men  as  a  girl  watches  for  admiration.  So  much  I 
could  see — and — I  know  not  that  I  liked  him  the  worse 
for  it. 

This  James  of  ours  would  go  into  a  tavern  and  ruffle 
it  with  the  best — tossing  tankards  of  ale  with  Hob  and 


102  MAY   MARGARET 

Dob,  the  Selkirk  "  souters."  He  would  drink  down  the 
Bordeaux  and  the  vintages  of  parched  champagne  with 
kings  and  princes,  giving  them  toast  for  toast,  bumper  for 
bumper.  And  if  mid-way  the  first  carouse,  Hob  of  the 
Elsin  chanced  to  grow  ill-haired  and  cantankerous,  who 
so  ready  as  James  of  Douglas  to  take  to  quarterstafif  and 
break  a  "  souter's  "  head,  or,  in  default  of  ready  timber, 
with  the  sounder  weapons  of  his  clenched  ten  fingers. 

Or,  if,  again,  my  Lord  of  Bracieux,  or  his  Highness  the 
PrinCe  of  Albany,  came  to  words  with  him  as  to  the  colour 
of  a  maid's  eyes,  the  degree  of  her  beauty,  or  the  immacu- 
late perfection  of  her  virtue,  who  so  quick  with  sword  and 
dagger  to  defend  his  opinion  as  James  Douglas,  or  who, 
after  all  was  done,  more  chivalrously  willing  to  shake 
the  hand  of  a  fallen  adversary,  or  assuage  his  wound  with 
the  ointment  of  marshmallows  he  kept  in  his  spare 
helmet  ? 

Besides  which,  there  was  something  else  about  him 
which  only  a  woman  can  feel,  and  even  she  cannot 
express.  James  Douglas  was  so  made  that  no  woman 
could  be  very  angry  with  him,  whatever  he  might  do — 
that  is,  she  could  not  keep  up  her  anger  for  long. 

So  we  walked  together  and  talked,  and  it  made  me  glad 
to  know  that  the  sword  by  his  side  had  laid  on  the  bent 
many  an  adversary,  and  that  the  strong  arm  which  swung 
me  so  easily  over  the  burns  and  hurled  trunks  of  trees 
from  near  and  far  so  that  we  could  cross  the  ditches  and 
stagnant  hags  of  the  morass,  was  ready  to  protect  me  as 
none  other  in  all  Scotland  could. 

At  any  rate  (I  deny  it  not)  it  grew  perilously  pleasant 
to  hear  the  clink  of  the  departing  steeds  which  carried 
Will  and  Sholto  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  and  to  know 
that  we  had,  James  and  I,  one  other  great  high-arched  day 
of  summer  all  to  ourselves,  in  which  to  wander  at  our 
wayward  wills,  to  watch  the  moor-birds  and  the  sea-fowl 
blown  up  from  Solway,  or  late-nesting  about  the  marshes 
of  Carlinwark. 

Then,  too,  James  would  take  my  hand — not  freely  and 
of  one  consent  and  accord  like  as  Laurence  was  wont  to 
do,  but  whether  I  would  or  no.     Yet  ever  laughingly, 


LAST   GRAINS    IN    THE    SAND-GLASS    103 

so  that  it  would  have  seemed  ill-tempered  and  dairy- 
maidish  to  make  an  objection  about  so  light  a  thing. 

"  Cousins  we  are,"  he  would  say,  "  and  brother  and 
sister  soon  to  be !  " 

Then  he  would  sigh  and  look  upon  the  ground  for 
some  while,  as  we  went  further  and  further  from  the 
castle  barrier  down  through  the  green  pleasances  of  the 
wood. 

"  I  would  that  I  had  been  the  elder  brother,"  he  would 
bemoan  himself;  "  'tis  hard  to  love  as  I  love,  and  yet " 

At  the  thought  he  grew  more  sober,  and  once  for  a 
moment  I  thought  of  a  surety  he  was  about  to  cry.  So, 
because  that  seemed  more  terrible  than  all  in  a  man,  I 
took  him  hastily  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  you  do  not  really 
love  me,  James !  you  know  well  you  have  loved  a  dozen 
before — aye,  and  more,  if  all  tales  be  true." 

"  Lies !  lies !  "  he  would  cry,  "  they  are  not  true !  I 
swear  it  by  the  bones  of  St.  Bride.  It  is  only  a  thing  said 
by  the  common  folk — the  clash  of  the  country !  They  fix 
on  me — because  Will  is — as  he  is  !  " 

'"  And  how  is  he  ?  "  I  asked,  not  too  wisely,  perhaps. 

James  laughed,  yet  not  scornfully.  For  James  Doug- 
las was  a  gentleman,  and  true  to  his  own.  Not,  how- 
ever, a  very  great  gentleman  like  my  brother  William, 
whom  they  slew  at  Edinburgh — or  another  whom  I  came 
to  know  later.  So  he  did  not  mock  his  brother  even  when 
in  act,  perhaps  without  intent,  to  win  away  from  him  the 
love  of  his  promised  wife. 

But  at  least  he  could  not  do  that,  for  I  had  never  given  it 
to  Will  of  Avondale.  No,  nor  even  counted  him  playmate 
and  "  little  lover,"  as  in  the  old  childish  days  I  had  called 
Larry  when  Maud  and  Sholto  strolled  afield  picking  for- 
get-me-nots or  star-gazing  at  the  constellations,  as  if  the 
sky  of  one  night  were  different  from  that  of  another.^ 

James  Douglas  laughed  good-naturedly,  carelessly, 
even  affectionately,  but  at  the  same  time  like  a  man  who 

^  I  am  told  that  it  is  indeed  different,  as  seafaring  men  and 
such  like  know.  Well,  let  them.  For  me,  I  neither  know  nor 
care.  Venus  is  the  sole  star  that  ever  I  knew,  and  her  I  loved 
chiefly  because  she  had  an  excellent  habit  of  going  early  to  bed. 


I04  MAY    MARGARET 

feels  himself  armed  cap-a-pie  when  there  is  talk  of  love- 
making. 

"  Ah,  our  Will,"  he  murmured,  "  he  will  be  a  new 
William  the  Lion  or  Robert  the  Bruce,  so  be  his  head 
does  not  fall  too  soon  under  the  axe.  But  he  will  never 
know  what  it  is  to  live." 

"  And  what,"  said  I,  drolling  with  him,  "  in  your  well- 
informed  younger-brotherly  wisdom  may  it  be  to  live? 
To  eat  and  drink,  to  ride  and  sleep,  to  marry  or  to  give  in 
marriage.  That  hath  been  the  general  opinion.  Is  Will 
shut  off  from  these.  Sir  Wiseacre?  I  judge  not  the  last 
— to  my  cost." 

"  The  sap  is  in  the  trees,  the  honey  in  the  flower,  and 
the  blood  in  men,"  James  answered  enigmatically.  "  Our 
good  Will's  veins  are  filled  with  the  ink  wherewithal  to 
write  state  papers — a  valuable  fluid  doubtless,  but  not 
one  from  which  to  distill  either  life  for  one's  self  or  hap- 
piness for  others !  " 

"  And  how  would  yon  proceed,  most  learned  St.  James 
of  Avondale,  high  master  of  the  mysteries  ?  " 

"  Even  thus,"  he  said,  slipping  a  hand  about  my  waist, 
"  if  I  had  Will's  chances  I  would  not  ride  off  every  day 
at  the  crowing  of  the  cock — to  the  north  to  see  whether 
Douglas  Castle  sits  still  on  its  knowe,  anon  to  the  west  to 
stir  up  the  Agnew  to  hang  a  few  more  scores  of  Ire- 
landers,  then  to  the  south  to  hector  the  Tutor  of  Bombie, 
and  (last  of  all)  to  the  west  to  see  a  new  rigging  put 
upon  the  pig-styes  of  Caerlaverock !  " 

I  felt  in  my  heart  there  was  both  meat  and  matter  in 
what  he  said,  and — I  did  not  (to  my  shame)  order  him  to 
take  away  his  arm  from  about  my  waist.  There  was  no 
barrier  about  the  Lady's  Bower  to  rest  the  back.  His 
arm  was  strong  and  good  to  lean  upon — just  as  Maud 
had  said  of  Sholto's.  I  was  curious  to  see  if  the  thing 
were  indeed  true.  And  it  was.  It  is  useful  to  be  told 
a  thing,  but  after  all  that  is  the  only  hundreth  part  of 
knowledge. 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  "  I  should  be — where  I  am  now. 
But  with  more  right — not  doing  another  man's  work — • 
tilling  his  ground  that  he  may  sow,  planting  that  he  may 


LAST   GRAINS    IN    THE    SAND-GLASS    105 

reap.  Bah!  (here  he  broke  off  angrily),  Will  has  man- 
hood, bvit  it  is  that  of  a  mechanism  of  iron,  that  drives 
onward  to  its  purpose.  You  and  I,  little  Margaret,  are 
but  puppets  in  his  game,  quintains  to  be  strewn  hither  and 
thither  as  he  birses  yont,  so  that  the  House  of  Douglas 
may  put  the  Stewarts  in  the  dust,  or  of  all  these  castles, 
not  one  stone  be  left  upon  another !  " 

I  had  never  seen  him  so  moved. 

"  James,"  I  said,  gently  enough,  for  there  was  that 
which  tightened  in  my  throat — I  knew  not  why,  "  it  is 
not  for  you  of  all  men  to  speak  thus — least  of  all  to  me, 
who  in  a  handful  of  days  am  to  be  your  brother's  wife ! " 

"  No,"  he  said,  more  quietly,  "  you  say  truth,  Margaret. 
But  I  have  loved  you — do  not  forget,  ever  since  we  played 
together  on  the  Hill  of  Daisies  up  yonder  where  through 
a  gap  in  the  cloud-drift  the  corn-stooks  wink  yellow  in 
the  sun.  I  have  gone  further,  taken  greater  risks,  laid 
my  life  in  pawn  more  often — yea,  upon  the  turning  of  a 
hair  for  you — as  did  never  Will !  If  I  speak  wrong — do 
wrong — lay  these  things  in  the  other  scale." 

And  suddenly  turning  he  took  me  in  his  arms. 

"  After  all  you  are  mine,"  he  cried  fiercely.  "  I  love 
you  better  than  the  other,  if  he  is  my  brother !  Do  not 
forget  it.  I  will  wait  for  you — if  it  be  a  thousand 
years ! " 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AVE,  AMOR — ATQUE  VALE  ! 

The  days  went  by  all  too  quickly.  The  preparations  for 
the  wedding-  itself  were  begun.  Pavilions  with  silken 
cords  and  rich  broideries  of  cloth  of  gold,  brought  from 
France,  were  set  up  on  the  green.  The  old  grey  castle 
itself  became  gay  and  parti-coloured. 

All  too  fast  the  end  was  coming,  like  the  last  grains 
making  a  dimpling  whirlpool  in  the  sand-glass. 

Day  and  night  James  had  pled  with  me  to  meet  him  once 
more — only  to  say  farewell,  but  since  my  first  weakness 
of  the  Lady's  Bower,  I  was  afraid.  I  would  see  him  no 
more  save  in  company  of  Maud  or  the  children,  for  by 
this  time  we  had  made  friends  and  they  were  climbing  all 
about  me.  And  at  these  hard  words  James  moved  about 
sad  and  disconsolate,  his  eyes  on  the  ground  and  his  fine 
curled  locks,  lint-white  like  a  schoolboy's,  all  dishevelled 
and  storm-tossed. 

So  after  a  time  my  heart  had  a  little  pity  on  him,  and 
one  day — it  was  the  very  afternoon  before  my  marriage 
day  (so  little  time  was  left  me) — I  set  out  without  saying 
a  word  to  any,  going  slowly  through  the  meadows  to  the 
northward  of  the  isle,  plucking  here  a  flower  and  there 
a  broad  leaf  of  bracken.  I  was  assured  that  James  would 
observe  my  way-going.  I  knew,  too,  that  Maud  would 
see  James  if  he  followed  me.  For  it  was  the  mid-after- 
noon when,  according  to  her  custom,  she  rested  in  her 
chamber,  and  the  window  looked  towards  the  Lady's 
Bower. 

At  that  time  I  had  no  clear  knowledge  what  Maud's 
thoughts  were  with  regard  to  me,  save  that  she  meant 
me  well.  And  indeed,  if  all  had  turned  out  as  Maud 
meant  them  to  do,  and  the  man  had  proved  as  worthy  as 

io6 


AVE,   AMOR— ATQUE   VALE!  107 

he  seemed — well — who  knows.  At  least  I  need  not 
anticipate.  I  went  my  way.  James  followed,  and  there 
in  the  north-looking  chamber  above  (as  I  knew  but  as 
James  did  not)  was  Maud  Lindsay  planning  for  my 
good. 

Will,  like  the  best  and  least  exigent  of  bridegrooms,  had 
gone  a-hunting  that  there  might  be  a  sufficiency  of  game 
for  his  guests  on  the  morrow.  The  sun  overhead  was 
munificently  hot.  The  bower  was  green  below.  Dee 
ran  brown  over  the  pebbles,  or  sulked  black  in  the  pools. 

In  the  Bower  I  sat  a  long  while — alone,  breathing  the 
summer  air,  warm-scented  off  the  flowers,  and  cool  ofif 
the  water,  as  it  came  to  me  in  alternate  whififs  and  little 
uncertain  breezes  from  every  quarter.  I  could  hear  the 
far-off  clatter  of  the  men  arranging  the  tents,  hauling  at 
ropes  and  singing  catches  as  they  pulled.  Opposite,  in 
the  meadows  of  the  Lochar,  scythes  flashed  in  rhythm ; 
and  once,  keen  as  a  bird's  cry,  a  mower  sharpened  his 
scythe  with  his  white  "  strake."  The  note  set  me  on 
edge,  and  when  James  suddenly  pushed  aside  the  green 
branches,  I  leaped  to  my  feet  with  a  cry  and  my  hand 
hard  set  against  my  heart. 

He  ran  to  me  and  clasped  me  to  him. 

"  I  have  affrighted  you,  little  dove,"  he  said.  "  I  can  see 
your  heart  beat.  There — on  your  white  throat,  it  flutters 
like  a  bird." 

But  I  put  out  my  hand,  firmly  resolved  to  keep  him  at 
a  distance.  "  Bide  where  you  are,  James,  good  cousin," 
I  said ;  "  these  are  privileges  neither  cousinly  nor  yet 
fraternal !  " 

"  Margaret,  I  love  you,"  he  cried,  and  this  time  (I  do 
him  the  justice)  he  was  pale  to  the  lips;  "you  will  never 
love  Will.  You  do  love  me.  Even  yet,  say  but  the 
word,  and  I  will  carry  you  off  and  maintain  you  in 
France — aye,  with  the  strong  hand !  The  king  offered 
me  service  there.  He  will  not  deliver  the  Duchy  of  Tou- 
raine  to  Will.  First,  because  he  is  in  the  favour  of  the 
Dauphin,  and,  moreover,  he  is  like  to  grow  too  powerful. 
Second,  neither  Charles  of  France  nor  Louis  his  son 
desire  another  Duke  of  the  Orient  on  their  hands.     Bur- 


io8  MAY    MARGARET 

gundy  is  thorn   enough   in  their  sides  without  a  Will 
Douglas  in  Touraine." 

"  And  what  has  that  to  do  with  us?  "  I  asked  him. 

"This,"  he  went  on,  speaking  hot  and  fast:  "  the  Queen 
talked  long  with  me  that  day  when  Dame  Sorel  and  you 
went  off  together.  On  the  part  of  the  King  she  offered 
me  high  command  and  good  service.  '  You  could  lead 
men,'  she  said.  *  You  can  drive  a  good  lance — I  know.' 
Let  us  take  the  Queen  at  her  word,  little  Margaret,  you 
and  I !  Let  us  go  to  France.  There  is  a  sea-captain  at 
the  Ross  of  Kirkcudbright  waiting  for  a  word  to  trans- 
port us  to  Nantes.  And  Will  hath  it  not  in  him  to 
pursue.     He  will  take  your  provinces  and  be  content." 

"  But,  James,"  said  I,  to  try  him — not  in  the  least  that 
I  thought  of  agreeing  to  go,  "  no  priest  would  marry  us, 
if  we  were  ten  times  in  France." 

"  Why,  am  I  not  your  cousin  even  as  Will  was  ?  "  he 
said.  "  I'faith,  be  not  afraid,  the  King  of  the  Scots  would 
help  along  anything  that  would  help  keep  Will's  estates 
and  yours  apart,  and  for  that  matter  so  too  would  the 
King  of  France.  Fear  you  nothing  at  all,  little  one! 
Come  with  me  to  the  Queen  at  Amboise.  She  will  care 
for  you,  and,  I  swear  by  sacred  honour  that  I  will  wait 
faithfully  till  we  have  the  same  permission  from  Rome 
to  marry,  that  Will  hath  now  in  his  pouch." 

As  he  was  speaking  his  face  was  perfectly  white,  and 
that  indeed  was  the  best  thing  I  had  yet  known  about 
James  Douglas.  I  saw  of  a  truth  that  he  loved  me 
greatly.  This  time  it  was  not  an  affair  of  a  moment  with 
him.  And  I  was  sorry  for  James — yes,  and  a  little  sorry 
for  myself  as  well,  being  so  hemmed  in  on  every  side. 

Yet  somehow  now  he  did  not  stir  my  heart — not  as  he 
had  done  before  in  the  Lady's  Bower.  It  was  not,  as  for- 
merly, the  hour  of  my  weakness.  I  saw  that  a  woman 
may  not  do  as  a  man.  She  cannot  slip  aside  from  duty  for 
the  sake  of  pleasure  as  a  man  may — and  often  does — 
yet  suffer  no  shame.  She  must  follow — because  she  is  a 
woman — the  higher  things.  It  is  her  wierd,  and  was  laid 
upon  her  along  with  the  Eden  pain.  Her  path  is  narrow 
and  the  thorns  hedge  it  about. 


AVE,    AMOR— ATOUE   VALE!  109 

"  James,"  I  said,  gently  la}'!!!^  my  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  "  it  is  my  turn  to  be  strong.  This  that  you  pro- 
pose would  ruin  more  than  you  and  me.  It  would  bring 
to  the  ground  that  great  House  whose  blood  is  in  our 
veins,  in  yours  as  in  mine. 

"  You  are  a  Douglas  of  the  younger  line,  I  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch.  The  traitor's  axe  cut  off  both  my 
brothers.  The  Stewarts  desire  to  come  between,  to 
divide  the  inheritance  of  the  Douglases.  They  thought 
that  their  work  was  done  when  the  blade,  already  red, 
fell  on  the  neck  of  the  Earl,  my  brother,  in  the  accursed 
Castle  of  Edinburgh.  To  me,  a  girl  and  at  that  time  a 
babe,  the  half  would  go,  and  that  half  the  richer  and 
stronger.  Your  father,  a  slack  man,  and  an  old  (I  speak 
it  not  unkindly),  would  take  the  remainder. 

"  But  this  they  did,  they  and  the  lick-platter,  knavish 
councillors,  without  at  all  counting  on  what  hath  been 
the  Douglas  strength.  '  Douglas,  Douglas,  hand  the- 
gither! '  That  has  been  the  gathering  word  of  our  folk, 
and  so  it  shall  be  yet,  dear  James.  I  was  but  a  lass  when 
this  heritage  came  to  me,  but,  by  the  Lord  and  the  Virgin, 
I  will  also  '  baud  it  thegither  ' !  " 

"  But  you  do  not  love  Will  ?  "  said  James,  looking  up 
with  a  face  still  white  and  working. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not  love  him.  What  chance  has 
he  given  me  to  love  him?  I  am  to  him  even  as  a  new 
province  or  a  few  thousand  hackbutmen.  No,  I  do  not 
love  him.  But  that  is  nothing  to  the  point.  You,  too, 
are  a  Douglas,  and  if  the  Stewarts  pressed  us,  would  not 
you  close  your  helmet-bars,  and,  drawing  the  great  two- 
handed  sword  that  Malise  made  you,  lay  on  for  the 
honour  of  the  House?  Or,  spear  in  rest,  would  you  not 
charge  in  the  great  and  bloody  day  so  long  as  strength 
and  life  remained  to  you?  You  know  that  you  would. 
Why,  then,  may  not  a  weak  girl  do  what  she  can?  give 
the  thing  she  has.  Are  there  no  battles  for  her  to  fight, 
alone,  with  none  to  help  or  hear — the  heavens  deaf,  the 
earth  iron,  the  night  about  black,  with  a  darkness  that 
may  be  felt?" 

I  could  hear  James  Douglas  sobbing.    I  know  not  that 


no  MAY    MARGARET 

he  understood  my  words ;  they  were  above  him.  He  was 
not  of  great  subtlety,  being,  as  it  were,  built  of  rough, 
gross  elements,  strong  and  salt  of  flavour  in  word  and 
deed.  Nevertheless,  something  moved  him,  perhaps  no 
more  than  that  he  knew  at  last  that  in  no  case  would  I 
marry  him,  but  would  carry  out  my  promise  to  Will,  what- 
ever might  be  the  cost  to  myself. 

So  hearing  that,  by  what  upturning  of  the  heart  of  a 
woman  I  cannot  tell,  a  wave  of  pity  for  this  man  swept 
over  me.  It  was  not  that  my  purpose  weakened.  Only 
— it  seemed  that  somehow  I  must  needs  comfort  my 
ancient  friend.  How  vain  my  thought  was  I  know  now. 
Men  compacted  like  James  Douglas  need  comfortings 
rough-rasping  to  the  senses.  Baked  meats  and  dainties 
are  thrown  away  upon  them.  Of  honey  comfits  and  con- 
serve of  rose  leaves,  sugar  wafers  filled  with  quince, 
seeded  pomegranate  jelly  and  stoned  black  cherries  of 
Gascony — bah,  they  say,  is  this  meat  for  men? 

But  these  things  I  knew  not  then.  I  learned  his  taste 
later.    This  it  was. 

Salt  beef  biting  with  cabbage-wort  and  onions,  cold  pork 
and  garlic  thereto,  a  horn-spoon  and  a  potful  of  bone  broth 
or  cockyleekie  hot  off  the  fire,  even  a  great  platter  of  oat 
porridge  with  ale  in  a  bicker — such-like  made  our  James's 
concept  of  pleasant  things.  And  his  taste  in  eating  is  an 
allegory  of  his  taste  in  other  things.  A  big,  lordly,  over- 
lording man  that  loved  his  bellyful  of  lustihood — to  eat 
when  he  was  hungry,  drink  when  thirst  nipped  him,  carry 
off  on  his  saddle-bow  the  woman  who  pleased  him,  to 
swagger  before  all  men  as  Saul  among  the  people,  haler, 
heartier,  stronger,  taller  by  a  head  than  any  there — these 
things  made  life  for  James  Douglas,  and  for  the  many 
James  Douglases  of  the  world. 

This  being  so  I  wasted  delicate  words  on  him. 

"  James,"  I  said,  "  were  I  free  to  choose — I  do  not  know 

—I  might " 

Then  in  a  moment  I  knew  that  I  had  done  wrong,  and 
that,  though  I  might  love  James  Douglas,  he  would  never 
understand  me. 
For  he  took  me  in  his  great  arms  like  a  child  and  kissed 


AVE,   AMOR— ATQUE   VALE!  in 

me — just  because  I  had  said  that — and  hesitated.  A  man 
will  never  learn — at  least,  not  such  men  as  James.  They 
are  the  bandits  of  love,  and  take  silly  women  by  brigand- 
age.    Strangely  enough  some  of  us  like  it. 

But  not  I — not  I.  That  I  did — in  the  end — come  to 
think  otherwise  of  the  marauder  was  for  altogether 
another  reason.  I  do  not  know  exactly  what,  but  that 
it  was  another  reason — of  that  I  am  sure. 

So  being  held  fast  and  kissed  often,  it  was  natural  that 
I  should  struggle  to  be  free — to  cry  out.  But  I  might 
as  well  have  rebelled  against  the  pillory  on  the  Villeins' 
Hill,  had  I  been  set  there.  And  my  most  touching  protes- 
tations had  as  much  effect  on  James  Douglas  as  upon  the 
headsman  of  Thrieve  the  appeals  of  some  suffering  wretch 
hard  gripped  by  the  law. 
"  Say  you  love  me,  then  !  "  he  said,  smiling  at  me ;  "  you 

said  that  if  you  had  a  choice,  you  would " 

"  Would  hate  you,"  I  cried  furiously,  "  and  I  do." 
"  Aye,  you  would  hate  me  if  you  had  a  choice,"  he  said, 
with  unexpected  subtlety,  "  but  you  have  not.     You  love 
me  therefore.     Say  it !  " 
"  I  will  not  say  it !     I  love  you  not.     I  would  die  first !  " 
"  Then  you  shall  stay  here  till  you  do !  " 
For  that  I  do  not  think  I  hated  him  so  very  much  as 
I  ought.     His  arms  were  so  strong,  and  yet  he  held  me 
gently.     He   had   somehow   "  the   airt   o't."     There   are 
worse   things   in   the   world.     And  besides   he   was   my 
cousin  and  playmate. 

So  I  said  that  which  he  wished  me  to  say — only,  of 
course,  to  get  away.  But,  all  the  same,  I  said  it.  At  that 
he  kissed  me  greatly,  fiercely — so  that  my  head  swam. 
There  came  a  singing  in  my  ears  that  was  not  the  mur- 
mur of  the  Dee  Water.  For  a  moment  I  seemed  almost 
to  lose  consciousness.  For  there  are  times  when  James 
does  not  know  how  strong  he  is. 

Then  when  I  came  to  myself,  being  still  held  in  his  arms, 
there  before  us  stood  William  Douglas,  within  two  yards, 
his  hand  upon  his  sword-hilt  and  his  face  like  to  the  face 
of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   GREAT    HEART   OF   A    MAN 

For  a  moment  we  stood  there  gazing  at  each  other — thus. 
WilHam  Douglas  was  bareheaded,  looking,  as  I  remem- 
ber, in  his  dress  of  black,  simple  as  any  squire.  Yet  in 
spite  of  all,  James  Douglas  did  not  let  me  go.  Courage 
of  certain  kinds  he  did  not  lack. 

As  for  me,  how  I  summoned  myself  to  meet  the  ordeal 
I  cannot  now  recall.  I  can  remember  only  that  through 
the  first  numbing  chill  of  feeling  that  all  life  was  over- 
turned and  changed,  there  shot  a  kind  of  thankfulness 
that  it  had  come — before  and  not  after. 

William  Douglas  might  do  with  me  what  he  listed. 
But  at  least  he  would  know.  There  was  comfort  in  that. 
And  so  for  the  breathing  of  twenty  breaths,  slowly 
respired,  we  stood  facing  one  another  without  moving. 

Then  Will  lifted  his  hand  from  his  sword-hilt  and 
pointed  to  the  entrance  of  the  Bower. 

"  Go !  "  he  commanded  in  a  hard,  bitter  voice,  not  loud, 
but  low  and  penetrating. 

And  James  with  his  arm  still  firm  about  my  waist, 
never  blenched  or  even  quivered. 

"  No,  brother  Will,"  he  answered,  "  I  will  not  go  and 
leave  you  with — Margaret !  " 

"  Margaret  is  my  promised  wife  of  to-morrow,"  said 
William  Douglas.  "  I  have  had  little  private  converse 
with  her.     I  desire  a  word  or  two  here  and  now !     Go!  " 

"  I  stay  to  defend  the  woman  I  love,  and  the  woman 
who  loves  me !  "  said  James,  looking  his  brother  in  the 
eye.  Douglas  to  Douglas — they  stood — and  a  Douglas 
between !  I  could  not  help  wondering  what  would  come 
out  of  that — yes,  even  at  the  moment  I  wondered.  But 
then  I  could  never  have  devised  anything  so  marvellous 
as  has  indeed  come  to  us  three. 

112 


THE   GREAT   HEART    OF   A    MAN        113 

"  I  do  not  lift  my  hand  upon  a  woman,"  said  Will. 
"  You  may  leave  Margaret  Douglas  with  me  and  safely. 
You  have  said  your  say.  I  have  heard.  Now,  I  have 
somewhat  to  add.  Go  and  help  them  with  the  banquet 
tent  yonder.     I  shall  be  with  you  later !  " 

And  his  eyes,  till  now  steady  and  black  as  night,  snapped 
upon  his  brother. 

Still  James  hesitated.  I  think  it  was  in  his  mind  to 
poignard  his  rival.  For  with  his  free  arm  I  could  feel 
him  grip  nervously  at  the  handle  of  his  dagger — his  mind 
evidently  divided  within  him,  wavering  this  way  and  that. 

"  Go,"  said  William,  without  raising  his  voice.  "  I  am 
the  Douglas !  " 

The  loyalty  to  the  Head  of  the  House,  which  James  had 
sucked  in  with  his  mother's  milk,  had  the  mastery.  He 
went  out,  clicking  back  the  dagger  into  its  sheath  and 
never  once  looking  behind  him. 

So  in  these  unimaginable  circumstances  I,  Margaret 
Douglas,  was  left  alone  with  the  man  who  was  to  be  my 
husband  on  the  morrow.  I  stood  wavering,  about  mid- 
way betwixt  crying  out  nervously  and  fainting  away. 
Had  I  not  been  a  girl  and  innocent,  I  should  assuredly 
have  done  the  latter.  For  to  faint  in  a  man's  arms  takes 
the  edge  off  his  anger,  no  matter  how  bitter  it  may  be — 
even  as  a  sleeping  draught  of  the  apothecary  dulls  the  ill- 
dreams  of  the  night. 

But  this  I  did  not  know,  and  so  sate  me  down  of  my 
own  accord  on  the  seat  of  rough  boards  which  James  had 
put  up  in  the  Bower.  I  only  leaned  back  and  breathed 
deeply  with  my  eyes  shut,  for  a  period  which  seemed  to 
be  measured  by  years  and  ages.  And  all  the  while  Will- 
iam Douglas  kept  his  black  eyes  steadily  on  me,  so  that 
I  could  feel  them  even  through  my  closed  lids. 

All  at  once  a  swift  and  strange  anger  against  him 
surged  up  in  my  heart. 

After  all,  had  he  the  right?  Marriage,  indeed,  he  had 
spoken  to  me  of.  Once  he  had  said  that  he  "  loved  "  me. 
But  how?  So  that  I  could  almost  have  laughed  at  the 
word.  No,  he  would  not  terrify  me.  I  was  a  Douglas 
as  well  as  he.     Therefore  I  rose — a  little  unsteadily,  I 


114  MAY    MARGARET 

fear,  in  spite  of  all  my  courage,  and.  walking  to  the 
river  edge,  I  dipped  my  kerchief  in  the  clear  brown  Dee 
Water. 

With  this  I  dabbled  my  face  well,  and  let  it  drip,  cool- 
ing the  palms  of  my  hands.  I  was  determined  that  Will, 
whatever  he  might  do  or  say  to  me,  should  not  have  the 
advantage  because  of  any  girlish  weakness  on  my  part. 

But  I  own,  in  spite  of  my  preparedness,  that  what  he 
did  say  to  me  took  away  my  breath.  That  he  should 
have  slain  me  with  his  hand  or  sent  me  to  a  convent  for 
my  life's  term  would  have  surprised  me  less.  Douglases 
had  done  as  much  before  to  their  women  folk,  even  after 
they  had  been  wedded  a  long  time. 

"  I  have  spoken  with  Mistress  Maud  Lindsay,"  he  said. 
"  She  it  was  who  bade  me  come  to  this  place — because 
I  zvould  not  believe!" 

Then  I  sprang  to  my  feet.  Hot  anger  ran  white  as 
molten  metal  from  my  brain  to  my  heart,  and  from  my 
heart  to  my  finger-tips. 

"  Maud — my  Maud  Lindsay,  whom  I  trusted — believed 
my  only  friend — to  betray  me !  "  I  cried. 

"  Nay,"  he  said  in  the  same  voice,  low,  even,  and  a 
little  chill,  "  not  your  only  friend,  not  yet  a  traitress. 
Your  best  friend — save,  perhaps,  one!" 

I  do  not  know  that  for  a  long  minute  my  brain  took 
any  meaning  from  these  words.  They  might  have  been 
Latin,  like  the  monk's  songs,  for  all  they  conveyed  to  me. 
But  slowly  there  dawned  the  hope,  inexpressible,  unbe- 
lievable, that  knowing  all,  William  Douglas  was  not  angry 
with  me. 

I  asked  him  in  as  many  words.  But  as  I  drew  nearer 
I  saw  him  shrink  away  a  little — unconsciously,  as  I  now 
know,  but  as  I  then  thought  because  James  had  so 
recently  held  me  in  his  arms. 

"  Angry  with  you,  child  ?  "  he  said,  his  voice  vibrating 
strangely ;  "  nay ;  but  my  eyes  are  opened." 

"  It  was  nothing,"  I  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly. 
"  James  was  but  bidding  me  farewell.  He  teased  and 
crakcd  like  a  scarecrow  in  the  corn-fields  till  I  had  per- 
force to  let  him  kiss  me.     I  did  wrong." 


THE   GREAT   HEART   OF   A   MAN        115 

William  Douglas  waved  his  hand,  as  if  all  that  I  spoke 
of  was  an  afterthought,  a  nothing,  even  as  I  had  said. 

"  My  eyes  were  opened  wide  before  ever  I  came 
hither,"  he  said ;  "  hitherto  I  have  walked  in  darkness. 
But  Maud  Lindsay  has  made  me  see !  " 

I  waited  for  that  which  should  come  next. 

"  Child,"  he  went  on  again,  "  I  wonder  if  you  will 
understand?  I  fear  not.  The  matter  is  too  great  for 
you.  But  at  first,  when  she  spoke,  I  would  not  believe 
that  you  could  think  of  another.  Love,  betrothals,  mar- 
riage, the  hope  of  children  born  to  the  House  of  Douglas : 
these  had  always  appeared  to  my  mind  as  so  many  links  in 
a  chain,  a  chain  which  was  to  bind  you  and  me  for  always. 
To  me,  you  have  been  all  my  life  the  Little  Maid  whom 
I  used  to  see  on  my  visits  to  Thrieve.  But  I  forgat  (hav- 
ing, indeed,  many  things  upon  my  mind)  that  now  you 
had  grown  into  a  woman ;  that  you  needed  other  love, 
other  care;  that  if  I  did  not  speak — well,  there  were 
others  less  tied  of  tongue !  " 

I  did  not  speak,  for,  indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  speaking 
as  much  to  himself  as  me.  Presently,  I  think,  his 
mood  changed.  He  sat  down  near  me,  and  let  his  words 
fall  with  a  commoner  and  more  friendly  accent. 

"  '  Your  fault,'  said  Maud  Lindsay,  '  all  your  own  fault, 
William  Douglas ! '  I  agree !  Only,  you  see,  I  did  not 
know.  But  it  is  a  crime  for  a  man  not  to  know.  A  man 
is  maimed  who  goes  through  life  thus,  with  eyes  that  tell 
him  nothing  of  women,  scarce  even  the  colour  of  their 
hair,  or  whether  the  blush  on  their  cheek  is  for  his  own 
incoming  or  for  that  of  another  man !  " 

"  William,"  I  said,  "  I  promised  that  I  would  be  a  true 
and  good  wife  to  you.  I  have  continued  to  intend  no  less. 
Is  that  enough  for  you  and  me?  We  need  not  expect 
great  things  of  each  other !  " 

He  smiled  very  sadly. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  am  well  served.  In  my  folly  I 
thought  it  was  enough  to  tell  a  girl  that  I  loved  her, 
knowing  that  one  day  she  was  to  be  my  wife,  and  that 
then  I  could  tell  her  better.  Listen,  child — what  I  say  is 
strange.     I  love  you.     I  love  you  as  James  yonder  will 


ii6  MAY    MARGARET 

never  love  you — no,  nor  any  woman.  He  hath  it  not 
in  him.  Nevertheless  I  know — I  have  seen — I  have 
heard — the  thing  Maud  Lindsay  told  me,  that  your  love 
is  not  for  me !  Not  now,  my  child — not  ten  years  hence 
— not  for  ever !  " 

I  laid  my  hand  on  his,  and  I  think  that  I  must  have 
sobbed  aloud.  "  I  do  love  you,  cousin  Will — ^as — as 
much  as  I  can."    These  were  the  words  I  said. 

He  touched  the  back  of  my  hand  gently.  Then,  stoop- 
ing, he  kissed  it,  laying  it  back  again  on  my  lap.  But 
there  was  no  caressing  in  his  touch,  only  somewhat  of  that 
sad  tenderness  with  which  we  resign  our  best  loved 
dead  to  the  white  swathings  and  the  hollow  falling  of  the 
clods. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  it  in  a  word.  You  have  said 
it — '  as  well  as  you  can  ' — so  you  would  love  your  hus- 
band. It  is  a  true  word.  But  I  saw  your  eyes  as  you  lay 
in  my  brother's  arms.  That  is  another  sort  of  love — 
something  I  shall  never  know — shut  away  from  me — lost 
for  ever.  And  by  my  own  fault.  I  have  chosen  the 
worser  part,  of  that  I  do  not  doubt.  But  such  as  it  is — 
'tis  too  late  to  go  back  upon  it  now !  " 

I  had  no  word  to  say.  For  though  there  was  no  right 
tenderness  for  William  Douglas  in  my  heart — not,  at 
least,  such  as  he  spake  of — I  could  not  love  him  as  my 
husband — no,  not  if  he  had  been  the  angel  Gabriel,  with 
all  the  virtues  of  heaven  thick  upon  him.  I  am  of  the 
earth,  earthy,  and  it  was  the  chief  of  my  good  qualities 
that  I  was  ever  candid  enough  to  acknowledge  it. 

"  Listen,  child,"  he  said  again,  and  as  he  spoke  all  his 
great,  clean,  over-burdened  soul  seemed  to  unroll  itself 
before  my  vision,  "  to-morrow  I  will  wed  you  before  the 
priest.  The  wheel  of  fate  cannot  go  back.  So  much 
must  be,  if  all  I  have  striven  for — all  that  your  two 
brothers  died  for,  is  not  to  be  lost  in  the  ruin  of  our 
House.  But  I  will  hold  you  sacred — yes,  even  as  my  sis- 
ter, even  as  my  mother,  until  the  day  of  my  death.  I  am 
a  strong  man  and  able  for  this  thing.  Also.  William 
Douglas  was  not  made  for  a  long  life.  He  fights  with 
principalities  and  powers  and  shall  die — tliough  in  his 


THE    GREAT    HEART    OF   A    MAN        117 

death  (I  who  speak  see  it)  Scotland  shall  be  new-born. 
Will  you  help  me  in  this  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wholly  understand,"  I  said,  "  but  at  least 
I  will  do  all  you  wish,  so  be  that  you  are  not  angry  with 
me  for — for — caring-  about  James !  It  is  only  a  little  and 
I  could  not  help  it." 

I  think  he  winced  at  this. 

"  Nay,"  he  said.  "  You  I  do  not  blame  at  all — and 
James  not  greatly.  He  is  as  incapable  of  refraining  from 
the  making  of  love,  as  I " 

"  Of  making  it !  "  said  I,  smiling  at  my  cousin  for  the 
first  time.  It  may  not  be  too  late;  who  knows?  You 
should  go  to  school  to  James !  " 

"  I  have  had  one  lesson,"  he  answered,  not  giving  me 
back  my  smile,  yet  not  rejecting  it,  "it  is  enough.  For 
me,  I  will  hold  to  the  word  I  have  spoken.  To-morrow  is 
our  wedding-day.  When  we  are  once  married,  you  and  I 
— I  shall  order  it  so  that  James  shall  ride  oft'  as  upon  a 
report  of  danger  to  the  Upper  Ward  and  I  follow  him 
immediately  to  Douglas  Castle.  Meantime,  I  will  leave 
you  here  with  Maud  Lindsay  for  your  guardian.  It  shall 
never  be  said  that  William  Douglas  took  what  was 
another  man's — that  is,  with  knowledge  and  intent.  As 
for  James,  I  will  speak  with  him  apart.  Till  we  meet  at 
the  altar,  Margaret,  I  bid  you  farewell ! " 

And  as  he  said,  even  so  he  did. 


CHAPTER     XVI 

A    MARRIED    MAID 

Even  yet  of  the  marriage  and  all  that  concerns  it,  I  can- 
not bear  to  speak  at  length. 

It  was  done,  and  as  to  that  there  was  an  end.  I  was 
left  alone,  at  once  a  wife  and  a  maid — the  wife  of 
William  Douglas  and  the  betrothed  of  James,  his  brother, 
with  the  full  knowledge  of  both !  Was  ever  girl  so 
bestead  ? 

What  Will  had  said  to  James  I  knew  not  at  that  time — 
nor,  indeed,  till  long  afterwards,  and  then  perhaps 
coloured  by  time  and  the  personality  of  the  narrator. 
Briefly,  however,  the  two  men  were  of  an  accord. 

To  James  Douglas,  till  his  brother's  death,  Thrieve  was 
a  shut  door.  I  laughed  a  little  when  I  heard  it,  baldly 
stated  by  Will  as  a  thing  certified  and  agreed  upon.  For 
I  could  imagine  very  well  James's  wry  face,  and  the  ill 
grace  with  w^hich  he  would  bind  himself  to  that  compact. 

"  But,"  said  the  Earl  William,  with  some  philosophy, 
"  the  arrangement  is  good  for  both — I  gain  an  arm,  and 
James  will  have  the  advantage  of  a  head " 

"  And  I?  "  I  asked  of  him  quickly,  "  what  do  I  gain?  " 

He  glanced  at  me  simply  and  without  suspicion. 

"  You  will  gain  that  which  you  yearned  for — liberty." 

I  pointed  about  the  circumference  of  the  Isle  of  Thrieve, 
round  and  round. 

"  There,"  said  I,  "  that  is  your  liberty — a  prison  of 
twenty  acres !  " 

William  Douglas  smiled.  We  were  in  the  banqueting 
tent,  sitting  apart — and  I  daresay  the  guests  thought 
that,  as  we  raised  our  eyes  to  each  other,  we  spoke  of  the 
light  things  of  lovers,  masking  our  hopes  with  glances  and 
happy  laughters,  our  anticipations  with  the  touches  of 
hands  beneath  the  table  board. 

ii8 


A    MARRIED    MAID  119 

"  Maud  Lindsay  finds  it  enough !  "  he  said,  slowly.  And 
I  think  that  for  once  he  spake  to  try  me. 

"  I  wot  well,"  I  answered,  giving  him  back  glance  for 
glance.  "  She  hath  here  all  that  she  desires,  husband, 
bairns,  housewifery,  love " 

"  Well?"  he  questioned,  with  some  hidden  meaning  of 
his  own  in  the  word. 

And  I  think  he  meant  that  even  then  I  also  might  have 
all  these  if  I  chose.  But  if  such  was  his  intent,  I  knew 
not  what  was  for  my  good.  Will  Douglas,  if  he  believed 
this  thing,  had  spoken  too  late.  What  he  asked  (if  so 
be  that  he  asked  it)  was  no  longer  mine  to  give.  And  the 
fact  that  I  was  not  sure  whose  it  was  did  not  help  Will's 
case  at  all.  At  any  rate  it  pertained  not  to  William 
Douglas. 

Laurence  McKim  had  come  to  the  wedding  after  all, 
and  throughout  the  ceremony  (in  which  he  took  no  part, 
being,  though  an  abbot,  only  in  deacon's  orders)  I  was 
conscious  of  his  pale  face,  fine  and  clear  in  outline  as 
the  carving  of  a  statue.  Behind,  in  the  groomsman's 
place,  James  gloomed  and  glowered,  seeming  even  then 
to  meditate  flinging  me  across  his  horse's  croup,  and 
galloping  out  upon  the  road  for  the  Little  Ross  on  the 
chance  of  the  vessel  that  was  to  take  us  into  the  roads  of 
Nantes. 

Before  he  departed  I  demanded  of  Will  where  were  the 
boundary  posts  of  my  liberty,  what  I  was  to  say  to  my 
jailors  when  I  desired  permission  to  cross  the  drawbridge, 
or  if  (upon  disobedience)  I  was  to  have  Black  Archi- 
bald's dungeon  with  bread  and  water.  Yes,  it  was  thus 
that  I  spoke  when  I  was  young.  Time  and  the  flux  of 
things  have  made  me  sorry  enough  for  it  now.  But  dur- 
ing those  years  I  am  sure  I  had  no  particle  of  gratitude, 
and  I  am  not  even  sure  that  I  had  any  heart. 

But  Will  answered  quite  gravely  that  Sholto  and  his 
two  hundred  men  would  be  at  my  service  if  I  desired  to 
ride  any  considerable  distance.  Also  that,  as  far  as  con- 
cerned the  braes  of  Galloway,  from  Palnure  to  Carset- 
horn,  and  from  the  Ross  to  the  Merrick  foot,  all  was 
as  safe  for  me  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  these  bairns  of 


I20  MAY   MARGARET 

Maud  Lindsay's  that  scampered  and  made  daisy  chains 
upon  the  green  pied  leas  of  Bahnaghie  and  the  Isle. 

I  looked  across  at  James,  as  Will  mentioned  the  Ross.  I 
meant  to  remind  him  that  all  might  not  be  as  safe  for  me 
as  the  Earl  imagined.  So,  to  reassure  him,  I  added  that 
I  did  not  intend  to  be  carried  ofif  twice  to  France,  but 
would  cling  to  Maud  Lindsay's  tails  close  as  a  burr  in  a 
frieze  coat. 

"  And  then  I  can  have  Laurence  sometimes,  is  it  not  so?  " 
I  asked.  "  He  reads  tales  out  of  the  Latin  and  tells  them 
to  Maud  and  me  in  the  summer  gloomings.  Is  it  per- 
mitted to  your  prisoner  that  she  should  speak  with 
Laurence  when  he  comes  over  from  Sweetheart?" 

"  Aye,  surely,"  said  William  Douglas,  carelessly,  "  have 
all  the  monks  of  Dundrennan  if  it  be  any  pleasure  to  you, 
child.  Let  them  tell  you  tales  by  the  league — Laurence 
or  another ;  'tis  all  the  same  to  me !  " 

For  he  had  it  not  in  him  to  be  jealous  of  any — least  of 
all  of  Laurence  McKim.  And,  indeed,  what  call  had  he? 
For  did  not  he  ride  away,  free  even  as  he  left  me  behind 
him  free,  bidding  me  company  with  all,  save  only  his 
brother  James?  For  that  was  the  agreement  that  the 
brothers  had  made  between  themselves. 

It  was  the  deed  of  a  great  heart — though,  perhaps,  a 
somewhat  cold  one.  Still,  it  made  of  James  Douglas, 
almost  to  a  certainty,  ninth  Earl  of  Douglas.  It  was 
something  to  wait  for — two-thirds  of  Scotland — with  a 
widow  that  had  never  been  a  wife  into  the  bargain. 
Certes,  a  noble  gift!  Yet  for  all  that,  James  Douglas 
only  gloomed,  thinking  of  the  present,  and  looking  as 
sulky  as  a  dog  from  whom  a  stranger  has  taken  a  bone. 
But  that  was  James's  way  all  the  days  of  him. 

Then  William  seemed  to  recall  something  to  himself. 

"  Laurence  McKim,"  he  said  meditatively,  "  yes — yes, 
that  is  well  thought  on.  I  am  glad  you  spoke  of  him. 
He  is  a  man  of  many  books,  and  will  b?  good  company 
for  you  all.     I  will  see  to  it — I  will  see  to  it  immediately." 

He  knitted  his  brow,  as  he  did  over  great  problems  of 
the  state,  yet  he  was  only  thinking  for  my  comfort. 
And  I  all  the  while  as  cold  as  a  stone  and  as  ungrateful. 


A   MARRIED    MAID  121 

He  went  on,  "  Also  there  is  Malise  over  at  the  CarHn- 
wark — by  the  Three  Thorns.  And  did  one  not  tell  me 
of  a  girl  there  of  your  own  age  or  younger.  What  is  her 
name?  Magdalen,  was  it  not?  A  maid  with  a  rare 
beauty  of  promise  !  She  will  keep  you  company,  and  help 
you  in  summer  with  the  flower-gatheripg,  and  at  your 
broidering  over  the  winter  fire !  " 

At  that  I  pouted.  It  was  good  of  Will,  doubtless ;  but 
as  for  me,  I  have  always  found  both  these  occupations 
go  better  in  company  with  a  man  than  with  any  girl,  of 
beauty  how  rare  soever. 

"  I  was  very  happy  as  I  was,"  I  said ;  "  why  had  you  to 
come  and  make  me  marry  you,  only  to  ride  away,  you  and 
James,  leaving  me  with  women  and  babies?  " 

"  Child,"  he  said,  a  little  drily,  "  you  will  find  the  Bower 
as  it  was.  It  looks  to  the  north,  and  commands  a  fine 
prospect !  " 

But  I  still  was  ill-satisfied,  thinking  of  myself,  and  tak- 
ing no  account  of  his  irony. 

"  Well,  there  is  no  one  to  speak  with,"  I  complained, 
"  you  take  away  James." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  mighty  sudden  gravity,  "  I 
take  away  James.  I  choose  not  that — my  wife — should 
go  to  the  Lady's  Bower  with  James  Douglas,  not  if  he 
were  twice  and  three  times  my  brother !  " 

"  And  Laurence?  "  I  asked,  determined  to  be  as  bitter 
with  him  as  I  could,  though  I  cannot  tell  why,  save  that 
the  events  of  the  day  had  been  too  much  for  me. 

"  Oh,"  he  answered  carelessly,  "  Laurence  McKim,  or 
the  collie  dog  from  the  Mains,  or  Puggy  the  monkey, 
from  the  guard-hall — have  whom  you  will  at  the  Lady's 
Bower !  But  as  for  my  brother,  let  him  bide  his  turn !  I 
am  doing  enough  and  more  for  James  Douglas !  " 

And  at  that  I  laughed.  For,  apart  from  the  strange, 
pleasureable  fear  I  had  of  James,  and  so  far  as  good 
company  was  concerned,  in  my  heart  I  preferred  to  be 
with  Larry.  For  William  had  spoken  truth.  It  was  as 
safe  to  be  with  Laurence  as  with  the  collie  from  the 
Mains. 

All  the  same  I  did  not  think  Laurence  would  have  liked 


122  MAY    MARGARET 

to  be  told  of  it,  nor  yet  would  James  have  been  flattered 
to  know  that  it  was  a  certain  relief  to  my  heart,  great 
and  definite,  to  see  them  both  ride  away  over  the  hills 
towards  Douglas  Castle. 

Then  the  stillness  settled  down.  The  tents  were  struck, 
the  ground  cleared — the  revellers  departing  as  they  had 
come  to  their  keeps  and  peel-towers.  There  fell  a  deep 
peace — a  Sabbath  on  the  land.  So  still  was  it  after  their 
way-going,  that  often  the  ringing  of  the  kirk-bell  at  Bal- 
maghie  could  be  heard  for  vespers  or  prime.  Sir  Harry 
the  parson  doubtless  pulling  himself  at  the  rope. 

It  was  indeed  almost  like  the  days  at  St.  Brigida's  come 
again.  Only,  and  it  was  a  great  difference — at  Thrieve 
there  was  no  Bald  Cat  and  no  hateful  espionage.  Also 
there  were  men  sometimes,  though  only  Laurence  and 
Sholto  counted  very  much — or  rather  to  speak  truth, 
Laurence — that  is,  if  he  would  only  have  come. 

As  for  Maud,  she  grew  sweeter  every  day.  She  made 
herself  winsome  and  beloved  by  women  and  that  easily. 
For  me  it  is  different — I  have  found  only  a  few  women, 
not  more  than  I  could  number  twice  over  upon  the  fingers 
of  a  hand,  who  were  even  tolerable  to  me.  But  with  Maud 
it  was  all  different.  She  not  only  endured  all  women,  but 
with  her  motherly  ways,  won  them  to  love  her  too.  And 
yet  I  can  recall  her  in  her  youth,  as  great  a  petticoated 
rogue  and  villain  as  the  best !  For  I  never  had  it  in  my 
heart  to  tease  men  as  Maud  Lindsay  was  used  to  do. 
Yet  a  home,  a  husband  and  wealth  of  children  may  make 
the  most  daring  of  us  even  as  Maud  Lindsay ! 

Now  the  men  had  not  long  gone  when  I  began  to 
bethink  me  of  what  Will,  my  husband,  had  said  as  to 
company  and  riding — that  all  was  safe  in  Galloway,  and 
that  he  had  left  me  a  fair  white  mare  of  Arab  blood, 
fine  and  gentle-pacing  as  a  Spanish  jennet,  yet  when 
fretted,  fiery  as  Varlet  after  he  had  been  in  stable  for  a 
week — my  dear  old  Varlet  that  of  his  courtesy  Sieur 
Paul  was  keeping  for  mc  at  Cour  Cheverney  lest  I  should 
again  find  myself  in  the  land  of  France. 

On  Haifa  then  (for  so  out  of  the  old  crusading  histories 
I  had  named  the  little  mare)  I  could  go  everywhere,  and 


A    MARRIED    MAID  123 

Sholto  soon  found  that  it  was  no  heavy-haunched  charger 
of  the  Hsts  that  could  hold  its  own  with  the  blood  of 
Arabia. 

But  Maud  Lindsay,  for  whose  little  finger  Sholto  cared 
more  than  for  my  whole  body,  was  mounted  on  a  steed 
that  paced  like  a  packman's  pony  well  laden  with  creels. 
Rouncey  was  the  fitting  name,  given  in  derision,  which 
this  broad-backed,  sure-footed  beast  of  burden  bore. 
Haifa  could  ride  about  and  about  the  padding  brute  as 
a  deerhound  circles  a  charging  ox.  I  think,  however, 
that  our  Maud  was  none  the  best  pleased  to  be  thus  made 
a  matron  of,  while  the  earliest  autumn  of  her  beauty  was 
yet  far  to  seek.  But  it  was  all  owing  to  Sholto's  affection, 
which  fussed  and  fumed  over  her  like  a  hen  over  duck- 
lings. And  as  often  as  she  went  riding  with  me,  it  was 
ever  "  Be  wise  now,  Maud !  Let  not  that  madcap  lead 
yovi  into  wild  tricks  !  " 

The  first  of  our  adventurings  was  on  the  day  after  they 
had  ridden  away — Will  and  James  together  over  that  hill, 
which  we  called  the  Hiding  Hill,  because  behind  it  many 
and  many  a  Douglas  has  passed  in  his  time,  watched  by 
the  eyes  of  loving  women  to  the  last  flutter  of  his  cap 
and  the  last  gleam  of  the  spearhead  as  it  dipped  and  rose, 
and — dipped  again. 

But  this  time,  strangely  enough,  the  two  women  in 
Thrieve  were  glad  to  see  the  men  depart. 

Maud  heaved  a  sigh  and  threw  up  her  hands,  press- 
ing her  temples  as  if  to  still  an  ache  or  to  be  rid  of  an 
anxiety. 

"  I  thought  he  was  never  going  to  understand,"  she 
said.  "  If  I  had  not  seen  James  follow  you  across  the 
meadow  and  round  the  willow  copses  towards  the  Lady's 
Bower,  I  had  surely  been  at  my  wits'  end.  So  I  sent 
him  after  you  twain  !  " 

"  For  me,"  said  I,  "  I  know  not  whether  it  was  well  or 
ill  done  of  you  !  " 

Maud  looked  a  while  at  me  fixedly,  at  first  with  a  certain 
vexation,  but  afterwards  gradually  breaking  into  a  smile, 
serene  as  gracious. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  was  wrong.     I  took  you  for  a  child, 


124  MAY   MARGARET 

but  you  are  a  woman  for  all  that  with  your  reasons  and 
counterings.  If  you  have  a  thing  given  you,  you  mis- 
like  it.  If  you  get  it  not,  that  you  like  worse.  But  if, 
having  cast  it  away  as  worthless,  it  will  not  come  back, 
being  whistled  for — that  you  like  worst  of  all !  This  it 
is  to  be  all  a  woman !     A  very  woman !  " 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    COTTAGE    BY    THE    THREE    THORNS 

It  was  with  some  anticipation,  but,  still  more,  I  think, 
with  that  exaltation  which  comes  from  swift  movement 
in  the  open  air,  that  Maud  and  I  started  to  ride  the  half 
league  which  separated  us  from  the  cottage  of  the  Three 
Thorns. 

It  was  mid- August — that  is  to  say,  high  summer  in  Scot- 
land, for  the  beauties  of  this  our  dour  land  develop  late. 
But  there  were  now  crops  along  the  river  bank,  other  than 
the  daisies  pied  and  winking  gowans  which  had  greeted 
me  on  my  return  from  France,  corn  still  green  in  the 
hollows,  but  thinning  out  and  yellowing  on  the  brae- 
faces,  besides  a  hundred  flowers  all  along  the  way  we 
went,  I  had  quite  forgot  the  country  names  of  most  of 
them,  though  I  could  have  given  the  most  part  of  them 
in  the  French  tongue  readily  enough. 

There  was  a  scent  of  delightful  warmth,  rare  in  Scot- 
land, over  everything.  The  morning  mist,  which  heat 
draws  from  the  ground  in  the  moist  south-west,  had  not 
yet  wholly  lifted.  Except  to  children  and  lovers,  the  way 
through  the  marshes  was  always  a  little  tedious,  because 
of  the  need  of  searching  out  the  best  path  across  the  peaty 
flowes,  and  of  keeping  to  those  bare  patches  of  soil  on 
which  only  tufts  of  heather  and  bent  grew. 

Then  we  mounted  the  hill,  from  which  we  could  see  the 
three  famous  Thorn  Trees  of  Carlinwark,  beside  which 
Malise  McKim  had  dwelt  all  his  life.  He  had,  it  is  true, 
a  much  finer  house  at  Mollance,  a  league  and  a  half  up 
the  valley ;  but  nothing  contented  the  old  man  truly  but 
the  armourer's  house  by  the  waterside,  with  the  Isle  of 
Firs  in  front  of  the  door,  immediately  under  the  blue 
barn  roof  of  Screel,  and  the  sound  of  the  water  crisping 

125 


126  MAY    MARGARET 

and  whispering  on  the  pebbles  along  the  shores  of  Car- 
Hnwark. 

Malise  McKim,  chief  Armourer-Smith  to  the  Douglases, 
met  us  by  the  door,  his  vast  leathern  apron  about  his 
middle.  He  showed  himself  a  gnarled  and  knotted  trunk 
of  a  man,  with  a  face  in  a  general  way  soberish,  but 
upon  occasion  gravely  mirthful  as  well,  and  even  in  repose 
showing  a  capacity  for  humour  essentially  Scottish. 

He  tossed  his  bonnet  on  the  ground  and  stood  before  us 
bareheaded. 

"  That  is  where  I  should  be,  too,  if  I  had  not  grown  so 
thick-about,  my  lady  Countess,"  he  cried ;  "  bide  ye  still 
where  ye  are,  Sholto's  Maud !  First  I  bode  to  rax  doon 
my  bonnie  !     Sit  your  fit  there  !  " 

He  thrust  out  a  hand  towards  me — a  hand  broad  as  an 
oaken  trencher  from  the  servants'  hall.  I  put  one  foot 
into  it,  and  with  a  touch  of  my  hand,  as  it  were  on  a 
mountain  side,  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  giant,  I  found 
myself  on  the  ground. 

He  laughed  a  low  satisfied  grumbling  laugh. 

"  Aye,"  he  chuckled,  "  the  Wee  Yin  hasna  forgot  the 
airt  o't.  She  has  minded  auld  Malise,  that  stood  afar  aff 
and  saw  her  married  to  his  maister  yester-morn.  But, 
wae's  me,  siccan  a  bride-beddin' !  They  tell  me  the 
Earl  William  rade  awa'  that  verra  nicht  to  Douglas 
Castle  and  left  ye  bird-alane  !     It  canna  be  true !  " 

"  Hush,  father,"  said  Maud,  hastily,  "  come  and  help  me 
down.  There  were  tidings  of  great  danger  in  the  Upper 
Wards — that  Crichton  and  Livingstone  were  even  then 
besetting  Douglas  Castle  with  a  great  army !  You  speak 
of  things  concerning  which  you  have  no  knowledge !  " 

For  so  it  was  ever  Maud  Lindsay's  way  to  manage  and 
mistress  everyone.  As  many  as  possible  she  caused  to  do 
her  will  by  simple  ordinance,  as  she  did  with  Sholto,  or 
by  alternate  manege  and  the  curb  rein,  as  she  had  been 
wont  to  do  with  her  lovers  of  old — now,  however,  mostly 
by  wheedling  and  cajolery,  or  if  no  better  might  be,  by 
the  argument  of  tears,  or  that  soft  inveiglement  and  the 
attractive  forces  c  f  those  little  kindnesses  which  touch 
and  win  a  woman  most  from  one  of  her  own  sex. 


COTTAGE   BY   THE   THREE   THORNS     127 

Old  Malise  lifted  his  daughter  down,  lightly  and  easily 
as  he  had  done  for  me — though  Maud  had  begun  to  pay 
the  penalty  of  comfort  and  a  home,  with  maternity  and 
the  happy  care  of  children.  In  brief,  she  was  no  longer 
willow  slender  or  quite  feather-weight. 

Now  to  me  it  was  greatly  pleasant  to  see  again  this 
grizzled  giant,  whom  I  but  dimly  remembered,  his  arms 
knotted  and  massy  as  the  branches  of  an  oak,  smiling"  upon 
us — ready  at  once  to  give  us  of  his  best,  or  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  either  of  us  if  need  were. 

"  But  why,"  said  I,  "  have  we  not  to  seek  you  at  your 
new  abode  ?  Is  not  the  Mollance  a  pleasant  place  to  dwell 
in?  If  not,  then  we  must  e'en  seek  you  another.  Do  you 
not  know  that  the  Douglas  will  be  behadden  to  none,  not 
even  to  an  old  friend  ?  " 

"  Pleasant  to  the  e'e,  and  heartsome — aye,"  said  the  old 
armourer,  "  but  the  Mollance  will  never  be  hame  to  me. 
Some  o'  thae  daftlike  young  folk  o'  mine  will  doubtless 
set  up  their  canopied  bedposts  there.  But  there  shall  be 
nae  hame  for  the  auld  smith  but  aneath  the  Three  Thorns 
where  he  was  born.  There  shall  he  leeve  and  there  (God 
sainin'  him)  will  he  dee,  and  when  they  carry  him  awa' 
feet  foremost,  he  will  be  buried  oot  yonder  on  the  Kelton 
braefaces,  wi'  the  glint  o'  rain  and  sunshine  comin'  and 
gangin',  as  if  the  Head  Smith  o'  a'  were  hard  at  it,  blawin' 
the  bellows  o'  the  wunds  athort  the  lowin'  coals  o'  the 
cloods  o'  even.  Hoots — there  I  am  at  it  again,  bletherin' 
fule  words  aboot  the  cloods." 

He  turned  with  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  a  voice,  cried 
aloud,  "  Guidzmfe,  are  ye  there?" 

"  Here  I  am.  Laird  McKim,"  replied  another  voice  of 
almost  equal  volume  from  behind  the  peat-stack,  "  but  I 
wad  hae  ye  ken  that  golderin'  like  a  Bull  o'  Bashan  is  in 
no  way  to  caa'  for  the  leddy  o'  the  Mollance.  Do  ye 
think  that  I,  Dame  Barbara  o'  that  ilk,  am  but  a  tinkler's 
wife  for  a'  the  warld  to  scraich  at?" 

"  And  'deed  what  better  are  ye  ?  "  said  her  husband, 
subduing  his  voice  to  shorter  range.  "  Ye  are  just  puir 
auld  Babby  Kim,  the  smith's  wife  at  the  Three  Thorns! 
And,"  suddenly  sending  his  voice  outward  in  a  gust  of 


128  MAY    MARGARET 

sound,  "  gin  ye  dinna  come  oot  frae  ahint  that  peat-stack 
this  minute — faith,  Tse  come  an'  fetch  ye  like  a  clockin' 
hen ! " 

"  The  poo'er  is  no  gien  ye  by  the  Ahnichty,  Laird 
McKim,"  said  the  voice,  "  '  Brawny  '  thoug-h  they  caa' 
ye!  Ye  mind  what  happened  to  that  black  scoondrel 
Ham  for  makkin'  a  shame  an'  a  latichin'  stock  o'  his 
faither,  and  faith,  it  wad  be  waur  for  you  to  do  the  Hke 
to  your  douce  marriet  wife !  Gang  your  ways  intil  the 
hoose  an'  bid  Magdalen  bring  me  my  paduasoy  goon  and 
my  white  mutch.  For  I'm  juist  no  fit  to  be  seen,  as  weel 
ye  ken,  me  bein'  a  laird's  wife,  an'  forbye,  the  mither  o' 
a  beltit  knicht  an'  an  Abbot  o'  Sweetheart  Abbey.  A 
bonny-like  thing  for  a  graund  body  like  me  to  be  catchit 
in  an  auld  slip  body  and  clogs,  feedin'  the  pigs !  Gang 
YOur  ways  and  find  Magdalen — hear  ye  me,  Malise 
McKim?'" 

"  But,  guidwife,"  said  Malise,  with  something  like  a 
wink  across  at  us,  "  I'm  some  feared  that  Magdalen  is 
gane  to  the  far  park  yont  the  hill,  to  gather  the  white  rose 
and  the  reid !  Ye  wull  hae  to  come  out  as  ye  are,  guid- 
wife, I'm  thinkin' !  " 

"  Deil  o'  that  I'll  do,  Laird  McKim !  "  cried  the  lady, 
while  we  waited  smiling.  I  had  signalled  to  Maud  to  be 
still,  for,  indeed,  the  words,  and  the  very  lilting  strain 
of  the  voice  when  in  pretended  anger,  recalled  old  things 
to  me.  For  this  same  Dame  Barbara  had  been  my  foster- 
nurse,  even  as  she  had  been  that  of  my  two  dead  brothers, 
whom  the  Crichton  slew  so  cruelly  at  Edinburgh.  "  Deil 
o'  that,"  she  repeated;  "gang  yoursel',  my  man,  to  the 
armoire,  an'  tak  oot  the  paduasoy  and  the  white  mutch 
that  hangs  on  the  peg,  a'  goffered  an'  daintied !  And 
mind  ye  that  your  hands  are  well  washen,  ye  great  muckle, 
hulkin'  blackamoor  that  ye  are!  For  gin  ye  fyle  a  single 
kep-string  or  bowed  puff,  I'se " 

"  Mother,"  said  Maud  Lindsay,  suddenly,  "  let  me  go  if 
you  need  such-like,  but  do  not  forget  that  you  are  keeping 
the  Countess  of  Douglas  waiting !  " 

"The  Countess  o'  Douglas?  Wha's  she?"  (There  was 
a  sudden  change  in  the  voice.)     "  No,  my  wee  Margaret. 


COTTAGE   BY   THE   THREE"  THORNS     129 

her  that  lay  at  my  breests,  that  was  unto  me  as  my  ain — • 
aye,  an'  maybes  mair — the  last  left  o'  the  bonny  three  that 
were  bane  o'  my  bane  an'  flesh  o'  my  flesh,  as  say  the 
Scriptures !  " 

"  Even  so,  Dame  Barbara !  "  I  cried.  "  If  you  will  not 
come  to  see  your  foster-bairn,  faith,  blithely  will  I  kilt  my 
coats,  and  help  you  to  feed  the  pigs — as  I  have  done 
before,  dear  mother  of  mine,  many  and  many  a  time !  " 

There  reached  us  a  sound  of  feet  heavily  plashing, 
excited  breathings  that  came  short  and  fast,  then  finally 
from  behind  the  peatstacks  Dame  Barbara  appeared 
with  her  sonsy  arms  outspread  to  enfold  me.  A  blue 
linen  gown  was  broadly  belted  about  that  part  of  her 
body  which  it  was  a  misuse  of  words  to  call  her  waist. 
A  kilted  skirt  of  rough  frieze  descended  a  little,  a  very 
little,  below  her  knees,  showing  rig-and-furrow  stockings 
of  blue  wool,  and  sturdy  feet  thrust  into  the  huge 
wooden  shoes,  called  "  clogs  " — a  sort  of  left-handed 
cousin,  I  take  it,  of  the  sahot  of  Touraine. 

"  Oh,  my  ain  wee  bairnie,"  she  cried,  "  I  wad  hae 
kenned  ye  afar  afif.  There's  nane  like  ye !  But  I  canna 
touch  ye  the  noo.  I  declare  I  am  a  fair  disgrace  to  be 
seen — me  that  micht  hae  been  sittin'  in  the  bonnie  hoose 
o'  Mollance " 

"  Aye,"  said  her  husband,  "  twiddlin'  your  thumbs 
roond  yin  anither  like  a  millwheel  in  a  spate  an'  wishin' 
that  ye  had  the  Carlinwark  pigs  to  feed !  " 

"  Ye  needna  think,  muckle  sumph  that  ye  are,"  retorted 
Dame  Barbara,  "  that  because  ye  canna  pit  by  a  day 
withoot  the  smell  o'  apron  leather,  an'  the  foost  o'  het 
pleuch-irons  fizzlin'  in  the  cauldron,  that  me,  who  is  ain 
sister  to  a  Provost  o'  Dumfries,  has  nae  mair  respectable 
thochts  in  my  heid !  " 

But  having  once  felt  my  arms  about  her,  the  good 
Dame  of  Mollance  easily  forgat  the  imperfections  of  her 
attire,  and  alternately  wept  and  laughed  over  me,  now 
holding  me  at  arm's  length  to  admire,  and  anon  reflect- 
ing with  some  breadth  upon  the  supposed  ill-conduct  of 
my  husband  in  leaving  me  alone  so  soon  after  our 
marriage. 


I30  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Body  an'  breath  o'  haly  Patrick,"  she  cried,  "  it  wasna 
dune  that  gate  in  my  young  time — by  gentle  nor  yet  by 
simple.  But  wae's  me,  wae's  me,  the  times  are  sair 
changed — and  wi'  them  the  folk.  There's  even  cor  wee 
bit  Magdalen,  and — Guid  forgi'e  me,  nae  sweeter  or  bon- 
nier maid  doffs  kirtle  at  bedtime  atween  here  and  John-o'- 
Groats — though  I  say  it  that  shouldna — but  even  she  will 
gang  aff  by  her  lane  instead  o'  dancin'  on  the  green  wi' 
them  that  are  o'  her  age.  Ye  will  find  her  ower  yonder 
i'  the  wild  wood  or  up  am.ang  the  heather,  far  far  yont, 
sittin'  on  a  hassock  o'  bent  and  listenin'  to  the  laverocks 
i'  the  lift,  as  if  she  had  never  heard  them  afore  in  a'  her 
life.  Aye,  aye,  puir  lassie,  an'  sae  your  groom's  gane  an' 
left  ye,  wae's  me,  wae's  me !  " 

This  was  the  beginning  of  our  daily  pilgrimages  to  see 
Malise  McKim  and  his  wife — and  (but  that  came  later) 
Magdalen,  their  daughter  and  their  other  five  sons,  Corra, 
Dun,  Herries,  Roger,  and  Malise  the  Younger.  All 
these,  however,  were  older  than  their  sole  sister  Magda- 
len, who,  as  their  mother  said,  "  had  arrivit  untimely,  the 
child  o'  oor  auld  age — the  ithers  being  a'  as  close  on  yin 
anither's  tails  as  a  string  o'  deuks  gaun'  to  the  mill- 
pond."  So,  as  was  natural,  this  one  little  daughter,  the 
pearl  of  price,  now  in  her  fifteenth  year,  had  drawn  to 
her  great  store  of  the  love  of  her  parents,  and  found  her- 
self petted  and  worshipped  as  a  divinity  even  by  her 
brothers. 

Nothing  she  could  do  was  wrong.  So  Magdalen  McKim 
grew  up  encircled  by  love  and  what  is  more  and  other, 
by  the  unfailing  expression  of  love.  Her  father,  who 
melted  to  none  else,  followed  her  with  his  eyes  as  she 
went  about  the  house.  One  day  (so  he  said  to  himself) 
Magdalen  would  marry  a  laird's  son  and  be  the  Lady  of 
Mollance.  For,  as  for  the  others,  man  and  boy,  they 
could  fend  for  themselves  as  their  father  and  mother  had 
done. 

But  on  this  first  occasion  of  our  going  we  saw  nothing 
of  the  maid,  the  fame  of  whose  beauty,  however,  had 
already  carried  far  across  the  countryside. 

Yet  I  held  it  strange  that  as  Maud  and  I  overtopped  the 


COTTAGE    BY   THE   THREE   THORNS     131 

little  ridge  behind  the  Three  Thorns,  which  is  called  the 
Hill  of  Carlinwark,  I  seemed  to  see  all  suddenly  against 
the  sunset  the  shape  of  a  knight  in  armour  mounted  on  a 
noble  horse.  He  was  stooping  from  his  saddle  to  kiss  a 
maiden's  hand,  which  she  had  rendered  to  him  as  if 
against  her  will.  Both  stood  out  black  against  the  red- 
ness of  the  west,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  gone,  or  at 
least  hidden  by  a  little  rising  of  the  ground  as  we  rode  on. 
The  sight  took  my  breath  away.  I  must  have  dreamed 
it,  I  thought,  for  indeed  at  the  time  my  head  was  full  of 
visions  and  hopes  and  fears.  So  I  said  nothing  to  my 
companion. 

And  Maud,  full  of  her  babes,  paid  no  attention,  or  at 
least  she  spoke  never  a  word  of  the  event  if  she  saw 
aught.  But  to  me  it  seemed  that  the  knight  with  the 
black  plume  and  the  great  square  shoulders  was  of  the 
build,  make,  and  carriage  of  James  Douglas. 

Only  in  my  heart  I  said,  "  Tush,  Margaret,  you  get 
your  mind  too  full  of  James  Douglas  these  days.  This 
must  be  ended,  and  suddenly!     I  will  no  more  on't!  " 

All  the  same  I  thought  on  the  vision  afterwards,  when 
I  ought  to  have  been  asleep  in  my  naked  bed. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  PENANCE  OF  JOCK  THE  PENMAN 

There  still  remained  to  me  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  sole  daughter  of  Malise  McKim,  the  sister  of  Sholto 
and  Laurence.  She  was  not  yet  sixteen  years  of  age, 
but  already  her  name  had  gone  wide  athwart  the  country. 
Yet  withal  she  was  a  strange  girl — with  a  look  on  her 
face  like  to  one  who  had  spoken  with  the  Little  People, 
so  they  said. 

As  her  mother  had  told  me,  she  loved  the  wild  wood 
better  than  the  village  street,  the  heathery  hill  more  than 
the  noise  of  the  market  place,  the  tumult  of  the  fair,  or 
even  the  genial  push  and  jostle  of  the  tourney  when  folk 
of  all  degrees  looked  over  one  another's  shoulders. 

And  still  I  had  not  set  eyes  upon  this  marvel.  But  one 
morning,  awaking  early,  I  heard  two  of  our  soldiers  of 
the  guard — A'Hannays  both  of  them — Gib  the  Brown 
and  Kirsten  the  Red,  exchanging  confidences  on  the 
stone  balcony  beneath  my  chamber,  where  their  watch 
had  been  set  by  Sholto  McKim. 

They  had  taken  leave  to  rest  their  halberds  in  a  corner, 
and  to  lean  upon  the  balusters  with  their  elbows  (God 
help  them  if  Sholto,  or  even  Andro  the  Penman  came 
their  way !). 

"So  ye  were  ower  by  at  the  Three  Thorns  yestreen, 
Kirsten?"  inquired  Gib  the  Brown,  starting  a  subject, 
which  in  spite  of  his  air  of  nonchalance  was  evidently 
near  his  heart.  "  Saw  ye  ocht  o'  the  Flooer-o'-the-Ha\y  ?  " 

(For  by  this  name,  it  appeared  the  men  of  the  Thrieve 
guard  and  the  country  folk  about  spoke  of  the  daughter 
of  the  armourer.) 

The  Red  one  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  scratched 
meditatively. 

"  The  Flooer— no,"  answered  Kirsten  softly,  "  but  the 
Thorn — aye !  The  Thorn  was  there !  " 

132 


PENANCE   OF   JOCK   THE    PENMAN       133 

"  Ye  cam'  on  Malise  McKim  then ! — What  said  he  til 
ye?" 

"  '  Said,'  quo'  he,"  growled  Kirsten  the  Red,  "  truth  o' 
Peter  an'  Paul,  I  didna  wait  for  what  he  said.  I  kenned 
the  auld  man's  fit,  and  I  left — yes,  Gib,  ye  may  tak'  your 
oath  on  that!     I  left  the  viceenity !  " 

"  But  how  kenned  ye  the  fit  o'  Malise  McKim  ?  "  in- 
quired Gib. 

Kirsten  the  Red  turned  upon  his  kinsman  a  look  of 
mingled  pity  and  contempt. 

"  Gib,"  he  said,  "  it's  little  that  ye  ken.  I  kenned 
Malise's  fit  by  the  sign  that  it  liftit  me  near  sax  feet  in  the 
air,  wi'  a  spang  like  a  green  puddock  loupin'  into  a  pool. 
So  I  cam'  awa' !  Aye,  Kirsten  A'Hennay  cam'  awa'  frae 
there  and  waited  for  nae  leave-takkin'  either !  " 

"  Umph !  "  retorted  Gib,  "  but  ye  are  a  poor  plucked 
bantam  to  fight  a  man.     Noo,  if  it  had  been  me " 

"  See  here — you,"  cried  Kirsten,  the  Red  A'Hannay, 
fiercely,  "  if  ye  think  ye  can  do  mair  nor  me — come  your 
ways  doon  to  the  green  yonder  when  our  watch  is  lifted, 
and  ril  show  you.  Aye  or  better  yet,  gang  to  the  well- 
yett  o'  Carlinwark  an'  gie  three  whustles  like  this " 

Here  Kirsten  imitated  the  call  of  the  peewit  upon  the 
moor  with  great  exactness.  Then  he  laughed.  "  Saul's 
health !  "  he  cried,  "  then  ye  will  ken  whether  ye  are  wel- 
come or  no  at  the  smiddy  o'  the  Three  Thorns — thro'  the 
shape  o'  the  auld  man's  brogans !  " 

At  this  point  there  was  a  hurried  rush  to  arms.  The 
sound  of  footsteps  approached  from  below,  halted,  again 
receded.  Instantly  halberds  were  grounded — piled,  and 
the  peaceful  confabulation  of  the  A'Hannays  continued 
over  the  parapet. 

"  I  say,  Gib,  she's  maist  awesome  bonny — yon  yin !  " 

"  Ye're  speakin',  Red  Kirsten ! "  replied  his  cousin. 
Then  with  a  groan  he  added,  "  But,  oh  man,  whiles  Fm 
feared  till  I  sweat  that  she's  no  for  the  like  o'  us,  Gib. 
There  was  young  Jock  the  Penman — they  say  he  made  up 
til  her  yae  day  on  the  road  to  Ba'maghie  Kirk — near  by 
the  wood  o'  Lochar.  And  my  faith,  I  kenna  what  he 
said  to  her,  but  she  bade  him  gang  an'  seat  himsel'  on  the 


134  MAY   MARGARET 

muckle  stane  in  the  midst  of  the  ford — they  caa'  it  the 
Black  Douglas,  ye  ken.  And  he  was  to  sit  there  for  a 
day  and  a  nicht  withoot  speech,  or  else  she  wad  tell  her 
faither,  and  her  seven  brithers  the  words  he  had  spoken 
till  her!" 

"  Lord  sake,  ye  tell  me  sae?     And  did  he  gang?  " 

"  Gang,  Kirsten  !  "  continued  Gib  solemnly.  "  Certes, 
there  was  nae  two  ways  aboot  that!  He  sat  him  doon 
there,  a'  disjaskit  an'  drookit-like  (for  he  had  to  wade  to 
the  oxters  and  him  dressed  in  his  green  velvets).  Aye, 
as  the  stane  was  marvellous  slippery,  he  had  to  sit  on  his 
hunkers,  blinkin'  like  a  hoolet  in  the  sunshine  a'  the  time 
the  kirk  folk  were  guan'  by.  An'  siccan  jeerin'  and 
lauchin'  as  there  was  at  him,  hotchin'  there,  wi'  the  caller 
Dee  Water  sappy  and  broon  about  his  hurdies,  an'  the 
ill-faured  laddies  frae  the  kirk-clachan  flingin'  stanes  an' 
dirt  at  him  !     Eh,  but  it  was  graund  to  see !  " 

Kirsten  made  silent  contortions  indicative  of  delight. 

Aye,  an'  yince  he  turned  his  back  on  the  ford,  and  the 
lassie  McKim  (I  never  thocht  she  had  as  muckle  spunk 
in  her)  garred  him  turn  him  again  and  face  the 
folk  as  they  gaed  planterin'  an'  splashin'  through  the  shal- 
lows on  horse  and  on  foot.  And  sae  there  sat  Jock  till 
what  time  Sir  Hairry  the  parson  had  said  his  mass,  and 
the  kirk  folk  were  on  their  road  back  again.  Then  Malise 
McKim  spied  IMaister  Jock  sittin'  a'  "crowded  up  on  the 
Black  Dooglas — his  chin  on  his  knees  and  dreepin'  like 
sea-weed  on  a  tide-rock." 

'"What's  that  fule  doin'  there,  Magdalen?'  said 
Malise. 

Had  you  not  better  ask  him,  faither.'  said  the  lass, 
speakin'  mim  an'  dcnty  like  a  wee  white  doo  drinkin' 
water." 

"  Aye,"  sighed  Kirsten,  "  she  canna  help  it.  It's  an 
airt  she  haes !  " 

"  '  Better  ask  at  him,  had  I? '  growls  Malise,  '  faith,  richt 
sune  ni  do  the  speerin'.' 

"  Sae  doon  he  gangs  to  the  water-side  on  that  muckle 
Flanders  beast  o'  his  that  wad  carry  a  tun  o'  wine,  and  he 
stands  a  bit  while  intent  upon  the  peetifu'  object  on  the 


PENANCE   OF   JOCK   THE    PENMAN       135 

Black  Dooglas,  lookin'  an'  aye  better-lookin'.  An'  them 
that  was  there  telled  me  that  it  was  better  nor  a  monk's- 
play,  when  the  black  deils  come  chasin'  in  after  the  ill- 
doers,  wi'  their  reid-het  pincers.  Ye  ken  what  wi'  the 
sparks  o'  forty  years'  smiddwark,  Malise  wrinkles  up 
his  face  into  knots,  and  pu's  doon  his  broos  till  he  grins 
at  ye  like  a  fox  oot  o'  a  whun  bush.  This  time,  they  say, 
he  was  fair  fearsome  to  see." 

"  '  Wha  are  ye  and  what  are  ye  doin'  there  on  the  Lord's 
Day  morning  ?  '  says  Malise  in  a  voice  that  near  shook 
Jock  the  Penman  aff  the  stane  intil  the  water.  *  Is  this 
the  feast  o'  the  King  o'  Misrule  ?  ' 

"  But  Jock  he  said  naething,  him  kennin'  better. 

"  An  sae  Malise  cries  oot  again,  '  Tell  me  what  for  ye 
are  sittin'  there  like  a  popinjay  on  a  steeple,  makin'  your- 
sel'  a  cockshy  for  a'  the  vagrom  bairns  and  guid-for- 
naething  rake-the-countries  in  ten  pairishes.  Is  that  the 
way  to  mak'  your  maister  respeckit  ?  ' 

"  But  aye  Jock  said  naething.  For  the  lass  was  stan- 
nin'  watchin'  on  the  shore. 

"  Sae  wi'  that  Malise  began  to  wade  in  to  him  on  his 
muckle  Flamand.  In  his  hand  the  smith  had  a  branch  o' 
an  oak  he  had  poo'ed  in  the  wood  o'  Glenlochar,  an'  as 
he  took  his  beast  into  the  ford  he  strippit  the  cudgel  to 
the  white.  And  because  Jock  the  Penman  sat  still, 
because  he  dauredna  steer,  the  fear  bein'  on  him,  Malise 
lifted  him  up  like  a  half-drooned  kitten,  an'  cast  him 
across  his  saddle-bow." 

" '  I  did  it  for  a  penance,'  says  Jock  at  last,  '  it  was  a 
vow ! '  And  had  the  stake  been  the  salvation  o'  his  saul, 
that  was  as  near  the  truth  as  he  bode  to  come  that  day, 
v/hatever. 

"  But,  wae's  me,  when  Malise  had  brocht  him  to  the 
shore,  there  was  the  lass  waitin',  and  Jock  telled  me  after, 
that  his  verra  bowels  turned  to  water  within  him  when  he 
saw  her.  But  she  only  said,  calm  and  saftlike  as  rain 
in  summer  when  nae  wind  is,  '  What  was  it  that  ye  said 
to  me,  John  the  Penman,  as  ye  gaed  oot  through  the 
woods  o'  Lochar  ?  ' 

"  An'  for  the  life  o'  him  Jock  could  think  o"  naething 


136  MAY   MARGARET 

better  to  answer  than  that  he  had  said  it  was  a  bonny  day 
for  the  folk  to  gang  kirkward,  an'  sain  their  sowls  heark- 
enin'  to  the  holy  and  blessed  words  o'  Mess  Hairry,  the 
parson  o'  Ba'maghie ! 

"  '  Nothing  more  than  that? '  she  said.  '  It  runs  in  my 
head  that  ye  said  mair  nor  that.' 

"  *  Naething,'  cries  Jock,  '  but  that  if  it  were  the  Lord's 
ain  wull,  a  drap  or  twa  o'  water  wad  be  guid  for  the 
craps ! ' 

"  '  Sae  ye  bode  to  hae  the  hale  flood  of  the  Water  o' 
Dee  to  keep  yoursel'  happy,  ye  numskull ! '  said  Malise, 
setting  Jock  on  the  ground  wi'  a  shake  that  garred  his 
teeth  chatter  in  their  sockets. 

"  '  And  when  next  you  say  your  prayers  for  the  folk  at 
Mass,'  Magdalen  put  in,  '  and  for  the  rain  upon  the  crops, 
let  your  place  of  oratory  be  other  than  the  middle  o'  Dee 
Water,  and  your  prie-dieit  a  fitter  place  than  the  Black 
Douglas  o'  Glenlochar !  ' 

"  *  Aye,  see  to  it !  '  growled  Malise.  '  Mind  what  the 
lass  says,  or  else  will  I  break  thy  thick  head  with  this 
cudgel.'  " 

Then  there  was  a  pause  as  I  abode  listening.  The  two 
men  stood  silently  degusting  the  tale  of  Jock  the  Penman. 
It  seemed  to  have  a  personal  flavour  for  them. 

"  And  what  think  ye,  Gib,  after  a',"  said  Kirsten  the 
Red,  "  was  it  that  Jock  said  to  the  lass?  " 

"  That,"  answered  Gib,  sententiously,  "  has  never  been 
revealed — but " 

"  But  what?"  said  Kirsten,  whose  temper  was  never  of 
the  longest. 

"  Weel,  gin  ony  body  ocht  to  ken  what  Jock  the  Pen- 
man said  to  Magdalen  McKim,  it  should  be  yoursel',  Gib 
A'Hannay !  Ye  hae  had  experience.  Tak'  my  advice, 
an'  keep  far  yont  frae  the  Three  Thorns.  They  are  no  a 
canny  set,  thae  McKims  !  " 

There  was  silence  again  from  that  point  for  several 
minutes — a  silence   strained  and  disagreeable. 

"  Ony  way,"  said  Gib,  breaking  it  fiercely,  "  I  haena 
been  kickit  and  taen  it  like  a  lamb !  " 

"Hae  ye  no?"  cried  his  cousin,  "Weel,  ye'll  no  hae 


PENANCE   OF   JOCK   THE    PENMAN       137 

that  lang  to  complain  o' — there!  And  there!  And 
there  I  " 

I  could  hear  the  rush  of  the  two  A'Hannays  to  the  cor- 
ner where  they  had  piled  their  arms,  and  the  first  click 
of  the  halberds  as  the  weapons  came  to  the  engage.  But 
as  I  did  not  wish  two  of  Sholto's  best  men  put  hors  de 
combat  for  a  few  foolish  words,  I  slipped  out  on  the  bal- 
cony and  called  down  to  them.  "  Have  you  seen  Sir 
Sholto  McKim  ?     Pray  send  him  up  to  me  ?  " 

They  were  standing,  breathing  hard,  their  heads  thrown 
back,  foot  to  foot,  weapon  to  weapon,  as  is  the  way  of 
their  fighting  race.  For  the  A'Hannays  can  never  hold 
land  long,  however  they  may  gain  it.  They  fall  a-fight- 
ing  among  themselves  when  there  is  none  other  to  strive 
with,  and  after  the  battle  the  land  generally  goes  to  the 
sole  surviving  cousin  in  the  twentieth  degree  of  rela- 
tionship. 

So  when  Gib  the  Brown  and  Kirsten  the  Red  saw  me, 
they  drew  themselves  up  and  saluted. 

"  Now,"  I  ordered  them  severely,  "  let  there  be  no 
more  of  this,  or  I  will  have  you  both  in  the  dungeon  of 
Archibald  the  Grim,  on  bread  and  water  for  a  week — aye, 
and  little  enough  of  the  first !  This  is  no  place  for  pikes 
and  partisans  when  every  good  Douglas  is  wanted.  If 
ye  have  aught  to  say  to  one  another,  go  down  to  the  green 
and  say  it  with  your  fists  like  men  I  " 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  SCENT  OF   THE   WHITE   THORN" 

Still  I  had  not  seen  Magdalen  McKim. 

I  was  resolved  that  no  longer  would  I  miss  my  mark. 
So  that  very  afternoon  I  sent  Andro  the  Penman,  whose 
swarthy  countenance  and  detemiinate  bachelordom  pro- 
tected him  from  any  misconceptions  as  to  his  purpose,  on 
mission  to  the  Three  Thorns  of  Carlinwark. 

With  him  I  sent  a  jewel  of  price  to  Magdalen — a  cross 
made  of  a  great  moonstone,  set  about  with  black 
diamonds,  of  Saracen  work — brought,  so  they  said,  from 
the  Holy  Land  by  some  crusading  Douglas.  And  with 
it  I  sent  the  letter  which  follows : 

Sweet  Magdalen  and  my  little  Foster  Sister, — I  have  heard 
speak  of  you,  often  and  mickle.  Yet  has  it  never  been  my  lot  to 
see  you.  Will  you  bring  your  Father  and  Dame  Barbara,  with 
as  many  of  your  brothers  as  can  be  spared,  to  the  Thrieve 
to-morrow — that  I  may  see  you,  and  know  you  for,  as  they  report 
of  you,  the  fairest  and  honestest  maid  in  Galloway.  This  I 
desire  all  the  more,  that,  before  I  was  wedded  and  so  in  one  day 
grew  an  old  woman,  folk  were  used  to  call  me  also  '  The  Fair 
Maid  of  Galloway.' 

This  I  signed  with  the  name,  which  (at  that  time)  I 
had  resolved  should  never  be  changed — '  Margaret  Doug- 
las.' And  then  I  waited,  expectant  as  a  lover  for  the 
coming  of  this  marvel  and  non-such — the  flower  of  all 
the  white  thorns  that  ever  grew  by  the  shores  of  Car- 
linwark. 

It  chanced  that  I  awoke  very  early  and  looked  across 
the  little  garden,  wherein,  upon  the  moist  and  fertile  soil 
washed  by  the  river,  flourished  the  flowering  rush  and 
bachelor's  button,  with  the  wild  vine  of  Touraine  climb- 
ing up  the  twin  ilex  oaks,  which  had  been  brought  all 
the  way  from  Rome  and  planted  against  the  warm  soutli- 

138 


THE    SCENT    OF    THE    WHITE    THORN      139 

looking  wall  of  Thrieve.  There  were  open  spaces,  too, 
where,  kept  in  countenance  by  gillyflower  and  the  royal 
brake,  there  were  beginning  to  take  root  those  pretty 
dainty  bunches  called  the  "  Fair  Maids  of  France,"  which 
the  Sieur  Paul  had  sent  over-seas  to  remind  me  of  Cour 
Cheverney. 

Only  on  this  southern  face,  under  my  window,  was 
there  any  green  leafage  abowt  the  Castle  Thrieve.  On 
every  other  side  the  castle  rose  clear,  grey,  lonely — a 
strong  tower  for  defence,  a  hold  against  the  storms  of 
war,  as  indeed  it  had  already  been  for  generations — 
square,  bare,  and  upstanding  as  if  in  scorn  of  com- 
promise. 

But  now  I  loved  the  little  garden  best  of  all,  perhaps 
because  my  dear  Lady's  Bower  was  deserted.  I  had  no 
desire  to  go  thither.  Two  men  seemed  to  stand  between 
me  and  it — the  two  whom  I  had  seen  ride  away  to- 
gether, each  watching  the  other,  behind  the  fatal  Hiding 
Hill. 

It  was  very  early  when  I  looked  out  on  the  morning  we 
were  to  see  Magdalen  at  Thrieve.  The  river  wimpled 
below,  glimmering  like  the  inside  of  a  pearl  shell — little 
flecks  of  rosy  clouds  driven  up  from  the  east,  being,  how- 
ever, smilingly  reflected  in  the  grey.  I  could  see  the 
water  wander  away  between  the  dark  meadows  till  it  drew 
to  a  point  and  was  lost  in  the  distance.  As  I  leaned  from 
the  window  of  my  chamber  I  felt  a  damp  chill  strike  sud- 
denly through  me.  The  dew-dropping  trees  in  the  little 
garden  shivered,  though  there  was  no  wind.  I  also  shud- 
dered as  if  I  had  been  one  of  them. 

Over  yonder  was  the  hill  of  Carlinwark,  the  clouds  of 
dawn  reddening  behind  it.  Why  should  Fear  haunt  me 
and  the  trees  of  my  garden  tremble  as  if  someone  were 
treading  upon  my  grave?. 

Could  aught  of  evil  be  coming  to  me  from  Over 
Yonder? 

Surely  not — only  the  daintiest,  the  most  innocent,  and 
the  sweetest  maid  in  Galloway — Magdalen,  the  daughter 
of  the  armourer  of  Carlinwark,  that  rare  blossom  of  the 
May  and  the  flower  of  the  white  and  scented  thorn. 


I40  MAY   MARGARET 

She  came  punctually  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  day,  her 
mother  Dame  Barbara,  and  Malise  her  father  being  with 
her.  I  was  startled  at  first.  I  remembered  her  as  a  little 
child  with  a  floss  of  golden  hair  and  eyes  like  the  sun  shin- 
ing on  a  mountain  lake — at  once  dark  and  bright.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it — little  Magdalen  McKim  had 
grown  into  a  bewitching  woman — yes,  a  woman,  though 
according  to  her  years  and  to  her  cleading,  she  was  yet  no 
more  than  a  child. 

Of  her  complexion  she  was  fair,  dazzlingly  fair,  as 
blonde  as  I  (being  a  Douglas)  was  dark.  As  to  her  coif, 
it  was  marvellous.  Each  individual  hair  stood  out  like 
a  wire  of  gold,  infinitely  fine,  waving  and  crisping  to  her 
waist.  So  light  the  fleece  was,  the  wind  blew  it  this  way 
and  that  in  wisps,  as  mist  is  blown  about  the  hill-tops. 

In  Magdalen's  eyes  there  was  the  depth  of  water  seen 
under  the  shade  of  great  ancestral  trees.  What  colour 
they  were — green,  blue,  hazel,  or  violet,  I  could  not  tell. 
Chiefly,  I  think,  they  changed  according  to  the  thought 
that  stirred  behind.  The  girl's  skin  was  clear  and  flushed 
easily  to  a  dainty  rose.  Something  innocent  and  appeal- 
ing looked  out  from  under  her  eyelashes  at  you,  claiming 
protection  even  before  the  full  and  gracious  smile  of  her 
mouth  had  said,  "  I  trust  you !  " 

And  so  at  long  and  last,  here  before  me,  was  Magdalen 
of  the  Three  Thorns. 

I  went  down  myself  to  meet  her,  but  when  I  would 
have  embraced  her  first,  she  directed  me  to  her  mother. 

"  She  will  be  disappointed  else !  "  she  whispered,  bend- 
ing from  her  saddle. 

And  so  I  kissed  my  old  nurse  first  of  all,  and  then  hold- 
ing the  girl  at  ann's  length,  examined  her  from  head  to 
foot.  The  time  being  summer  she  was  clad  in  plain  white 
linen  cloth,  fresh  from  bleaching  upon  the  green  grass  of 
the  Carlinwark  meadows,  and  her  hair  was  kept  from 
straying  by  a  snood  or  band  of  blue  ribbon,  broader  than 
usual,  which  passed  about  her  small  and  shapely  head. 

With  that  came  Maud  out  also,  smiling  sweetly  and  full 
of  content  with  her  life,  her  babes,  her  husband.  Maud 
could  think  wisely  and  well  for  others — witness  how  she 


THE    SCENT   OF   THE   WHITE   THORN     141 

had  thought  for  me — but  really  her  soul  abode  within  her, 
content,  unfretted,  sufficient  to  itself  as  that  of  a  good 
mother  should,  the  young  birds  being  still  in  the  nest. 

So  we  went  in,  and  afterwards  Malise  came  and  joined 
us  in  the  great  hall,  refusing,  however,  to  sit  down  in  the 
presence  of  his  mistress. 

"  The  boys  ?  "  he  grumbled,  I  might  say  rumbled,  when 
I  had  asked  him  why  they  had  not  all  come,  "  na,  na — 
they  are  better  at  hame.  Twa  sons  o'  mine  are  lost  to  the 
anvil  and  the  hammer.  If  a'  o'  them  gaed  the  way  of 
Prior  Laurence  yonder,  and  Sir  Sholto  here — what  would 
come  o'  the  armourer-ship  to  the  Douglases  o'  Thrieve 
whilk  hath  been  in  my  family  ever  since  there  was  a  Doug- 
las to  go  forth  to  battle,  or  a  McKim  to  fit  him  for  it  wi' 
steel  harness  and  sword  o'  mettle  ? 

"  '  Na,  na,  guid  lads,  bide  where  ye  are,'  says  I.  And 
guid  lads  they  are.  But  spoil  a  McKim  an'  ye  mak'  a 
devil  unpitted.  So  I  e'en  set  them  their  tasks,  and 
explained  what  wad  happen  gin  they  werena  dune  by  the 
doon-lettin'  o'  the  nicht ! 

"  '  The  Lord  help  ye ! '  said  I.  But  they  kenned  fu' 
weel  that  He  wadna !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

It  was  to  me  a  day  most  memorable,  that  August  noon 
and  afternoon  when  from  the  Three  Thorns  of  Carlin- 
wark,  Magdalen  McKim  came  first  into  my  house  of 
Thrieve.  At  this  distance  of  time,  and  after  all  that  is 
come  and  gone,  it  is  hard  for  me  to  detach  myself  and 
convey  to  those  who  never  set  eye  upon  this  girl,  any  true 
idea  of  the  wonderful  charm  of  her  girlhood. 

There  have  been  beautiful  and  gracious  women  not  a 
few  whom  I  have  seen  and  known — chiefest,  of  course, 
Maud  Lindsay  and  Mistress  Agnes  Sorel — "  La  Belle  des 
Belles."  But  the  like  of  Magdalen  McKim  as  she  was  at 
fifteen  have  I  never  seen — child-woman  and  woman-child 
in  one. 

I  cannot  mind  me  of  any  great  thing  we  either  said  or 
did.  We  went  into  the  south  garden,  I  know,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Ilex  or  Lady's  Oak,  where  I  had  had  seats 
placed.     Maud  Lindsay  came  to  us  time  and  again  as  the 


142  MAY   MARGARET 

duties  of  her  housekeeping  and  nursery  permitted.  But 
mostly  she  left  us  alone  to  make  acquaintance,  taking 
Dame  Barbara  off  with  her,  to  count  baby  linen  and 
appraise  napery,  while  Malise  went  the  rounds  of  the 
armoury  with  his  son  Sholto,  growling  at  specks  of  rust 
to  other  eyes  invisible,  and  informing  the  Captain  of  the 
Guard  for  the  hundredth  time  how  differently  things  were 
managed  when  he  was  in  residence  at  Thrieve — "  in  the 
Tineman's  time,"  as  he  was  careful  to  add. 

"  Doubtless,"  answered  Sholto,  growing  at  last  a  little 
nettled,  "  but  then,  if  our  arms  are  not  so  clean,  we  do  not 
lose  SO'  many  battles  with  them !  " 

"  But  more  heads !  "  growled  the  ancient  armourer  in 
his  beard.  "  And  there  would  have  been  less  of  that  same 
if  the  young  Earl  William  would  have  taken  my  advice. 
But  'tis  not  too  late  even  yet.  Yonder,  to  begin  with,  are 
Chancellor  Crichton  and  Tutor  Livingston,  that  carry  on 
their  shoulders  a  pair  of  bosses  that  would  be  none  the 
worse  of  a  snedding !  " 

Sholto  laughed,  placing  his  hand  affectionately  on  his 
father's  arm. 

''  But  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  right  Douglas  yet,"  he 
said,  "  that  would  take  advice?  " 

Malise  shook  his  head,  perhaps  remembering  my 
brothers.     Then  he  sighed. 

"  Never  if  it  were  guid  advice !  Or  frae  a  man !  "  he 
added,  softly,  and  as  if  recalling  something  to  his  mind, 
woeful  and  heavy  with  Fate. 

•  •  •  •  • 

So  in  the  south  garden  IMagdalen  and  I  sat,  the  white 
*  doves  that  swooped  and  circled  about,  plumping  upon  the 
scattered  grains  of  corn,  not  more  innocently  happy.  I 
asked  her  after  a  while  concerning  her  lovers  and  the 
men  who  came  to  the  Three  Thorns  to  woo  her — of  whose 
number  and  varied  qualifications  I  had  heard  so  great  an 
account. 

Magdalen  smiled  softly,  with  a  swiftly  passing  reminis- 
cence of  her  father's  humour  in  her  eyes.  Then  they  took 
on  again  the  misty  look  of  hills  seen  through  an  April 
shower. 


THE    SCENT    OF   THE   WHITE   THORN     143 

''  Aye,  aye,"  she  said,  "  there  is  a  deal  of  work  to  be 
done  about  the  armoury — work  that  takes  time,  work  that 
has  to  be  waited  for.  And  there  are  lads,  and  brisk  lads 
too,  that  *  cock '  their  heads  out  of  the  smithy  door  when 
my  mother  steps  across  to  the  bleaching  green,  or  one  of 
my  brothers  comes  ben  for  a  drink  of  water.  But,"  here 
she  smiled  softly,  "  since  John  the  Penman  did  his  watery 
penance  on  the  stone  cairn,  there  has  been  more  of  peace 
about  the  house-place  of  the  Three  Thorns !  " 

"  Who  are  they  that  come  ?  "  I  said,  not,  I  think,  out 
of  curiosity,  but  just  because  I  wanted  to  know.  For 
the  things  which  happen  to  one  girl  always  interest 
another. 

So,  to  encourage  her,  I  told  her  of  Cour  Cheverney,  of 
the  gallant  knights  there,  and  of  how  I  liked  Laurence, 
her  brother,  best  of  all.  At  which  she  smiled,  and  had  for 
a  moment  the  same  childish,  all-forgetful  look  I  had  seen 
in  Larry's  eyes  when  he  was  setting  the  little  mill-wheels 
to  running  in  the  tumble  of  the  Touranian  brooks. 

Then,  very  carefully,  I  spoke  concerning  William,  my 
husband ;  of  how  wise  he  was,  how  brave  in  word  and  act, 
praising  him  at  the  expense  of  his  brothers,  to  see  what 
she  would  say.  For  women  do  these  things  the  one  to 
the  other.  Then,  after  a  silence,  my  reward  came.  Mag- 
dalen flashed  out: 

"  But  was  it  not  true — so,  at  least,  I  was  told — that 
Lord  James  conquered  in  the  tourney,  even  as,  when  he 
was  but  a  boy,  he  did  at  Stirling  against  the  knights  of 
Bargandis  ?  " 

So  with  that  I  turned  and  said  to  the  girl,  "  Hath  my 
cousin,  James  Douglas,  by  any  chance  been  often  over 
at  the  Three  Thorns?" 

But  she  answered  me  quiet  steadily,  with  her  own  sweet 
and  constant  humility — a  reproof  in  itself. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  he  is  over  great  a  lord  to  think  of 
me;  nevertheless,  I  have  seen  him  ride  by  when  I  was 
gathering  flowers — yes,  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl, 
whom  he  would  take  up  on  his  saddle  before  him,  being 
kind.  But  now  that  I  am  too  old  for  suchlike,  he  will, 
when  he  meets,  dismount  and  walk  a  little  way,  asking 


144  MAY    MARGARET 

concernedly  for  my  father  and  brothers,  with  whom  he 
was  in  France,  and  for  whom  he  cherishes  love  and  affec- 
tion past  the  common !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  I,  "  such  affection  is  more  common 
than  you  suppose,  sweet  Magdalen !  " 

But  even  then  the  girl  took  no  offence,  nor  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing  as  irony,  being  simple  and  pure,  and  set 
about  with  strong  brothers  and  a  father  that  had  a  name 
upon  the  earth,  whom  no  man — no,  not  even  James  Doug- 
las, would  care  to  cross  in  his  angers.  She  did  not  even 
look  up,  but  went  on  throwing  corn  to  the  doves,  pile  by 
pile.  For  the  which  Sholto  coming  in,  brother-like, 
reproved  her. 

"  Ye  may  do  as  ye  like  at  the  Three  Thorns  and  wel- 
come," he  said,  "  but  here  I  am  in  charge  of  the  larder  of 
Thrieve.  And  since  it  has  been  prophesied  that  there 
shall  be  a  siege  of  the  place  within  three  years,  there  are 
horses  and  men  that  may  be  glad  of  the  grain  you  are 
flinging  so  freely  to  these  fat  squabs !  " 

And  since  it  was  our  Douglas  way  never  to  interfere 
with  any  man  in  his  jurisdiction  and  responsibility,  I  said 
nothing.  Indeed  I  would  have  said  as  little  had  he 
reproved  me — such  being  his  right  and  duty. 

But  Magdalen  blushed  crimson  athwart  the  white  of  her 
cheeks. 

"I  am  sorry,  Sholto,"  she  murmured,  and  then  she 
looked  with  a  certain  appeal  at  me. 

"  We  are  all  his  slaves  here,"  I  whispered,  "  wait  till  he 
is  gone !  " 

Then  there  came  a  voice  from  the  window  above. 
"  Come  up  hither  an  hold  the  babe  while  I  see  to  the 
chambers.     These  lazy  sluts  leave  half  their  work  undone. 
This  1    is  to  live  in  a  castle  with  a  guard  of  men-folk  in 
the  hall  beneath." 

We  both  knew  well  the  voice  of  Maud  Lindsay  and  very 
hurriedly  and  with  long  strides  Sholto  departed  to  do  the 
duty  of  parent  auxiliary. 
I  laughed  aloud  when  he  was  fairly  gone. 
"  Ah,  little  girl,"  I  cried,  "  it  is  well  that  there  is  some- 


THE    SCENT   OF   THE   WHITE   THORN      145 

thing  up  yonder  which  can  tame  even  a  captain  of  the 
Guard.     Hearken !  " 

And  clearly  through  the  open  lattice  there  came  the 
sound  of  a  babe's  crying. 

"  That  makes  us  all  slaves ! "  I  said.  Then  at  the 
words  I  flushed  hot  as  fire. 

And  swiftly,  causelessly,  as  if  also  ashamed  or  affrayed, 
Magdalen  nestled  up  against  me. 


CHAPTER   XX 

INSTRUCTION  IN  LOVING 

It  becomes  not  me  to  write  of  the  doings  of  William 
Douglas — of  how  he  began  to  realise  his  ideal,  by  taking 
the  King  out  of  the  hands  of  Crichton  and  Livingston,  of 
his  being  made  Lieutenant  General  of  the  realm — of  how 
he  besieged  and  destroyed  Crichton  Castle,  and  afterwards 
took  that  of  Edinburgh.  Of  course,  William  Douglas 
would  succeed.  I  never  doubted  that  of  him,  being  my 
husband. 

Twice  only  did  he  take  me  with  him  when  he  was 
received  in  state,  and  stood  at  the  King's  right  hand.  But 
I  liked  not  James  Stewart's  appearance — no,  not  though 
he  was  a  King  and  twice  the  descendant  of  kings.  On  his 
face  was  the  birth  tache  which  gave  him  his  nickname — 
James  of  the  Fiery  Face.  His  temper  was  naturally 
uncertain,  yet  capable  of  rages  which  made  him  danger- 
ous as  a  cur  that  runs  amuck  in  the  dog-days.  Never 
could  I  bear  the  name  and  kind  all  the  days  of  me — 
Stewards  and  turnspits  mating  with  foreign  kings  and 
princes,  yet  ceasing  not  to  intrigue  with  the  scum  and 
filth  of  the  land,  in  order  to  put  down  their  own  noblest 
and  bravest.  Out  upon  the  Stewarts,  I  say !  And  as  to 
this,  it  was  Malise  who  first  opened  my  eyes. 

Sholto  was  now  often  away  in  the  north  or  in  Edin- 
burgh and  Stirling  with  the  Earl  William.  For  my 
husband  came  but  seldom  to  Thrieve  since  he  grew  so 
great  in  the  land,  even  as  it  was  written  that  he  should. 
Yet  this  I  think  was  for  my  sake,  and  he  never  came  with- 
out bringing  me  a  present  of  the  rarest  and  best — such 
things  as  he  knew  would  please  me,  curious  oriental 
caskets,  egg-shaped,  carved  out  of  ivory,  carpets  of 
Turkey  work,  and  for  myself  all  manner  of  beautiful  gar- 
mentry,  which  if  I  had  put  upon  me,  I  would  have  been 

146 


INSTRUCTION    IN    LOVING  147 

gayer  than  the  peacock  that  pivoted  his  tail  upon  the  sun- 
dial in  front  of  the  arbour  beneath  the  Hex  in  my  garden. 

I  knew  he  meant  to  be  kind.  For  ofttimes  it  seemed 
that  he  would  arrive  at  Thrieve  with  something  to  say  to 
me,  and  yet  sit  in  the  garden  talking  of  indifferent  things, 
while  he  took  my  hand,  holding  it  in  his — but  only  as  a 
cousin  might  do,  even  in  France.  I  think  he  remembered 
always  the  Lady's  Bower,  and  what  had  been  said  and 
done  there.  For  me  I  sometimes  wished  he  had  for- 
gotten. 

I  have  said  that  my  south-looking  chamber  had  beneath 
it  a  terrace  with  a  balluster,  the  same  whereon  I  had 
heard  the  cousins  A'Hannay  take  up  their  parable  con- 
cerning Magdalen  McKim.  At  least  it  was  so,  and  by 
opening  my  window,  either  in  the  little  outer  chamber  or 
in  the  bedroom  one  could  hear  excellently  what  went  on 
beneath.  For  my  part  I  did  not  mean  to  hearken,  but 
sometimes  there  was  little  else  to  be  done  at  Thrieve. 

So  one  September  gloaming — still  and  gracious  it  was, 
I  mind  it  yet — William  Douglas  and  I  sat  together  on  the 
low  seat  by  the  window  of  my  chamber.  He  had  brought 
me  stuff  of  Persia,  soft  like  a  cushion,  yet  strong,  to  lay 
upon  it  from  end  to  end.  All  to  pleasure  me  he  did  it, 
having  taken  the  measure  secretly,  or  else  carried  it  in 
his  head.     For  such  at  this  time  was  his  wont. 

Almost,  indeed,  I  had  forgotten  that  he  was  my  hus- 
band. It  was  so  long  since  anyone  had  reminded  me  of 
it — least  of  all  William  Douglas  himself.  So  now  it  was 
more  as  friends  that  we  sat  together,  talking  easily,  or 
rather  he  talking  and  I  listening.  For,  to  speak  truth, 
there  was  in  my  heart  a  great  desire  to  hear  him  speak  of 
James,  his  brother,  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  my  mar- 
riage day.  Yet  because  I  would  not  ask  and  he  would 
not  tell,  I  was  silent  while  he  recounted  of  all  that 
Archibald  was  doing  in  the  north,  where  he  had  been 
made  Earl  of  Murray.  Then  he  told  of  Hugh,  who  was 
now  Earl  of  Ormond,  and  Little  John,  who  must  needs 
have  a  barony  of  his  own  and  set  up  as  "  My  Lord  of 
Balveny !  " 

"  And  what,"  said  I,  to  lead  the  converse,  "  have  you 


148  MAY   MARGARET 

done  for  James?  Is  he  alone  to  be  left  plain  knight 
when  the  Lieutenant-General  portions  out  all  Scotland 
among  his  brothers  ?  " 

As  I  was  speaking  a  strange  look  passed  over  my  hus- 
band's face.  He  gazed  out  across  the  green  garden,  over 
the  wall  of  the  square  enceinte  of  Thrieve  to  where,  on 
the  green  grass,  Maud's  elder  children  were  sporting, 
rolling,  biting,  and  clawing  at  each  other  like  young 
puppies. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  slowly,  choosing  his  w^ords,  "  there  is  an 
old  title  in  Scotland  that  I  have  reserved  for  James,  older 
than  Murray,  or  Ormond,  or  Balveny.  It  is  enough  for 
mv  second  brother  that  he  is,  and  shall  remain,  the  Master 
of  Douglas !  " 

This,  as  I  knew,  was  the  title  reserved  for  the  heir  of 
all.  So,  after  this  answer  of  William's  concerning  his 
brother,  we  sat  a  long  while  silent.  I  know  not  of  what 
my  husband  thought,  but  for  me  I  said  nothing,  because 
1  had  nothing  to  say  that  would  comfort  him.  At  last  he 
spoke,  looking  at  me  gently  enough. 

"You  weary  here?"  he  asked.  "Have  you  no  desire 
sometimes  to  change  Thrieve  for  Douglas  Castle  or  Avon- 
dale?     If  so,  I  will  give  the  orders!  " 

"Then  I  may  not  go  again  to  Edinburgh  or  Stirling, 
where  the  Court  is?  "  I  asked,  to  try  him.  For,  indeed,  I 
knew  the  answer  already. 

"  I  judge  it  not  safe,"  he  said.  "  There  be  many  about 
the  King's  court  that  would  be  glad  to  trap  the  Doug- 
lases, all  at  one  bird-catching.  Therefore,  if  I  am  here, 
James  is  at  the  Court,  and  Archie  and  Hugh  busy  in 
the  North.  As  for  you,  little  as  you  are,  do  not  forget 
that  you  carry  with  you  as  your  dower  all  Galloway  and 
the  Borders,  together  with  such  hard-won  honours  as 
can  be  wrenched  from  the  thieves  of  Annandale  and  the 
lads  of  the  forest." 

He  smiled  faintly  and  almost  wistfully,  holding  my 
hand  the  while ;  but,  still,  only  as  a  brother  might. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  it  is  indeed  no  small  thing  to 
have  laid  upon  another's  back  the  burden  of  so  much ! 
But  for  me  I  am  content  with  Deeside,  and  Maud  and 


INSTRUCTION    IN    LOVING  149 

Sholto — and  the  spectacle  of  another  woman's  love,  all 
siccar  and  untroubled  !  " 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  on  earth !  "  said  William  Doug- 
las, "  as  you  will  find,  my  sweet  cousin,  when " 

"  Hark,  listen !  "  I  whispered,  interrupting  him ;  "  it  is 
the  cooing  of  the  turtle-doves !  " 

"What — what?"  he  answered  quickly.  "I  will  not 
listen !  It  is  not  fitting — to  overhear  the  Captain  of  my 
Guard  and  his  wife  at  their  private  conversations !  " 

And  he  moved  precipitately  to  go  out. 

But  I  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  down. 

"  It  had  been  for  your  good  if  you  had  heard  more  and 
listened  more,  my  Lord  of  Douglas,"  I  whispered  to  him, 
"  aye,  and  stood  thus  behind  window-bars  with  your 
finger  on  your  lip.  Good  William — you  know  not  every- 
thing! Listen,  there  are  the  makings  of  the  prettiest 
quarrel  down  on  the  terrace  yonder." 

"  A  quarrel?  "  he  said  in  wonder.  If  I  had  said  a  tour- 
nament, I  do  not  think  he  would  have  been  more 
astonished. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  a  quarrel  first,  most-petulant  and  pro- 
vocative— afterwards — well,  you  shall  see  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  watched  little  housewife  Maud  trimming 
her  sails  for  a  storm  all  day  long — aye,  ever  since  she 
rose  and  laced  her  stomacher?" 

"  St.  Bride,"  quoth  honest  Will,  "  do  women  spend  their 
time  on  such  trifles?  " 

"  Aye,  and  enjoy  it  too,"  I  answered  him.  "  It  is  their 
life  to  them,  as  bands  and  treaties  and  Lieutenant-Gen- 
eralships are  yours.  And  they  have  on  the  whole  the 
greater  certitude  of  happiness !  But  hush,  here  are  our 
doves  of  Thrieve !  " 

"I  cannot  stay!     I  will  not!"  said  William  Douglas. 

But  I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm  and  held  him  forcibly, 
bearing  all  my  weight  upon  it. 

"  Stay,"  I  said,  "  yes,  stay,  William.  You  may  learn 
more  in  half  an  hour  than  you  have  learned  at  the  King's 
council-board  all  your  life." 

By  this  time  the  evening  had  fallen  still,  soft,  and  with 


150  MAY    MARGARET 

a  wide  peace  through  which  the  swallows  seemed  to  swoop 
down  from  unseen  heights,  as  from  another  world.  You 
could  hear  the  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms  sent  on  forage 
duty,  paying  court,  after  their  kind,  to  the  milk-maids, 
none  too  coy,  across  the  water  at  the  Mains  of  Thrieve. 

Beneath  us,  and  dark  against  the  silver  of  the  water,  I 
could  just  see  Maud.  She  leaned  on  the  stone  balluster, 
even  as  the  A'Hannays  had  done.  Sholto  was  further 
within,  occupied  with  some  matter  of  the  adjustment  of 
armour,  concerning  the  exactitude  of  which  (as  became 
a  good  soldier)  he  was  a  mighty  stickler.  Maud  looked 
two  or  three  times  over  her  shoulder;  but  Sholto,  busied 
with  some  intricate  fabrication  of  leathern  belts  and  steel 
buckles,  whistled  on,  paying  no  heed. 

"  Come  here,  Sholto,"  said  Maud  Lindsay  quickly,  "  I 
want  you !  " 

Sholto  glanced  up.  with  his  usual  swift, authoritative  toss 
of  the  head,  an  action  which  showed  the  firm  setting  of 
the  chin  on  the  neck,  and  the  squareness  of  the  shoulders. 

"  In  a  moment,  Maud,"  he  said.  "  I  am  busy.  What 
is  it?" 

"  /  zvanf  you ! " 

Sholto  rose  instantly,  throwing  down  the  soft  leathern 
setting  of  the  armour  he  was  designing,  and  laying  aside 
the  pieces  of  shining  steel  he  had  been  fitting  upon  it. 

"  What  is  it,  Maud?  "  he  said  gently,  as  he  approached. 

"  You  would  not  come,"  she  said.  "  You  are  not  as 
you  used  to  be.  You  think  more  of  your  armour  and 
weapons  than  you  do  of  me " 

"  Dearest !  "  cried  Sholto,  aghast  at  the  very  sud- 
denness of  the  attack. 

Maud  turned  upon  him  and  held  out  her  arms. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  she  cried — "really — truly — 
tell  me !  " 

"  Of  course  I  love  you !  "  said  Sholto  with  the  true  bald- 
ness of  a  man  long  wedded,  who  has  had  time  to  use  up 
his  vocabulary. 

"Say  it  otherwise,  if  you  mean  it,  Sholto!"  persisted 
Maud. 

"  Je  t'adore!"  said  Sholto  promptly.     He  had  not  been 


INSTRUCTION    IN    LOVING  151 

in  France  for  nothing.  Maud  looked  at  him  smiling,  and 
then  suddenly  burst  into  tears.  Any  excuse  was  better 
than  none.  Sholto  gazed  at  her  frankly  bewildered,  and 
then  would  have  put  his  arms  about  her,  but  she  repelled 
him  indignantly. 

"  You  make  light  of  our  love,"  she  said,  "  You  would 
not  have  done  it  when  you  first  knew  me.  But  now — I 
am  old.  I  am  the  mother  of  children.  And,  what  can  a 
woman  expect.     Men  change !  " 

''Maud!" 

"  Oh,  'tis  easy  to  say  '  Maud,'  and  take  a  poor  foolish 
woman  in  your  arms.  But  to  love  her  and  hold  to  it  year 
after  year — that  is  another  matter !  " 

I  could  feel  William  Douglas  growing  restless  as  the 
twilight  deepened  and  from  beneath  the  voices  came 
clearer.     But  I  would  not  let  him  go. 

"  For  my  sake,"  I  said  to  him. 

"  Oh,  if  Maud  and  Sholto  would  only  behave  them- 
selves," I  thought,  "  I  would  yet  go  to  Edinburgh  with  my 
husband." 

And  for  the  rest  of  the  time  in  the  chamber  I  thought 
no  more  of  any  man — of  James  Douglas  or  another.  The 
voices  came  again.  It  was  Maud  who  spoke.  Appar- 
ently somehow  without  words  Sholto  had  made  his  peace, 
and  perhaps  he  thought  (poor  man!)  that  Maud  had 
altogether  delivered  herself. 

"  Sholto,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  softly,  "  do  you 
know  that  sometimes  I  dream  of  going  far  away  with  you 
• — to  another  country?  I  know  not  where  that  land  is. 
Only  that  there  we  will  have  no  wars  or  rumours  of  war, 
no  steel  breastplates  or  sharp-piercing  lances,  no  killings 
and  treacheries.  But  just  you  and  me  for  ever  living  on 
in  a  sweet  peace,  in  a  little  house  by  ourselves,  with 
the  children  growing  up  about  us.  And  then  there 
will  be  always  a  blue  sky  above,  and  close  by  a  river 
running." 

"That  will  do  to  drink,  but  what  shall  we  eat?"  said 
Sholto  with  practical  tenderness.  "  Eh,  tell  me  that, 
baby?" 

At  another  time  Maud   (if  such  had  been  her  mood) 


152  MAY   MARGARET 

would  have  resented  his  tone  as  trifling  with  all  that  was 
of  highest  and  holiest.  But  as  it  happened,  she  only 
clasped  him  in  her  arms  the  more  tightly. 

"  Oh,  Sholto,  I  could  live  upon  your  love,"  she  said ; 
"  you  are  better  to  me  than  meat  or  drink — more  neces- 
sary than  the  air  I  breathe." 

"  Good,"  said  Sholto,  imperturbably.  "  I  did  not  know 
I  was  so  nourishing.  But  how  about  the  children  ?  Could 
they  diet  upon  me  too  ?  " 

We  heard  the  clear  ringing  impact  of  fingers  on  cheek. 

"  That  is  for  being  insolent,"  said  Maud,  whose  mood 
changed  every  moment.     "  You  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes ! "  said  Sholto,  dutifully,  but  still  somewhat 
doubtfully. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  all  just  a  dream,  a  foolish  dream," 
said  Maud,  looking  out  on  the  river,  "  a  dream  born  of 
the  sunset  and  the — the — having  you  here  with  me — all 
alone !  " 

"  Margaret,"  whispered  William  Douglas,  "  this  makes 
a  shame  of  me.     I  will  stay  no  longer." 

"  A  shame,"  answered  I,  softly.  "  Are  we  not  married 
— you  and  I — even  as  they?  Hush,  you  cannot  go  now, 
they  will  hear  you !  Bide.  This  is  only  the  beginning — 
she  means  to  quarrel  with  him  yet,  or  I  am  a  Welshman. 
A  quarrel  and  a  reconciliation  are  what  I  call  '  Maud's 
nightcap  '  when  she  hath  been  fretted." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  ?  "  began  William  Douglas. 

I  covered  his  mouth  with  my  finger  in  the  dark,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Of  course  I  do !  What  else  is 
there  to  do  in  Castle  Thrieve,  think  you,  but  quarrel  with 
those  we  love  ?  " 

Then  the  voice  of  Maud,  as  I  had  supposed,  took  up 
her  plaint. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  said,  "  I  wake  in  the  night  and  think 
you  are  dead !     Does  not  that  show  how  I  love  you  ?  " 

As  Sholto  appeared  to  contemplate  this  subject  without 
extreme  enthusiasm,  Maud  proceeded. 

"  Then  I  have  beautiful  visions  of  flying  with  you 
through  the  air,  on  angels'  wings,  the  two  of  us  all  clad 
in  whiteness,  and  the  children,  too,  clad  like  little  angels 


INSTRUCTION    IN    LOVING  153 

(which  they  are  now,  indeed,  only  not  able  to  fly).  Do 
you  ever  have  a  dream  like  that  ?  " 

Conscientiously  Sholto  turned  over  the  treasures  of  his 
midnight  memories. 

"  No,"  he  answered  simply.  And  then,  perhaps  feeling 
the  word  a  little  bald,  he  added,  "  But  I  have  dreamed  of 
riding  on  a  horse " 

Maud  pushed  him  from  her  with  vigour. 

"  Always  of  horses  and  armour  and  fightings,"  she  said. 
"  You  never  think  beautiful  things  as  I  do.  Why,  I 
sometimes  dream  that  we  shall  die  the  self-same  day.  It 
will  be  in  the  morning — no,  the  evening.  That  would  be 
sweeter  for  you  and  for  me !  " 

"And  as  to  the  children?"  said  Sholto,  quietly.  "It 
would  be  a  cheerful  awakening  for  them,  poor  brats,  next 
morning !  " 

"  God  would  care  for  them !  "  said  Maud  with  vague 
piety.  She  was  certainly  hard  bested  for  a  cause  of 
quarrel. 

"  Well,"  said  Sholto,  "  at  least  I  think  the  babes  would 
be  none  the  worse  off,  for  one  or  the  other  of  us  to  be 
spared  to  them  !  " 

Maud  leaped  upon  the  argument  fiercely. 

"  Ah,  there  it  is,"  she  cried.  "  You  want  me  to  die 
before  you.  You  would  soon  fill  my  place.  I  know  that 
well !  " 

She  pushed  him  back,  and  in  the  reflection  of  the  sunset 
sky  on  the  water,  we  could  see  her  bend  a  little  on  her 
knees  and  look  up  into  his  face. 

"  Ah,  I  believe  it "  she  cried,  beginning  quite  sud- 
denly to  sob  uncontrollably.  "  You  would — perhaps  you 
know  of  someone  already.  You  are  only  waiting  for  my 
death  to — to  bring  her  here  !  " 

Maud  flung  one  arm  out.  She  had  acted  so  well  that 
(like  a  woman!  )  she  was  beginning  to  believe  her  own 
chance  assertions.     Her  hand  struck  him  on  the  breast. 

"  I  will  not  stay,"  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  Let  me  go.  I 
will  take  my  children  away.  I  will  save  them — from — 
from  that  woman  !  " 

"  Maud,"  gasped  Sholto,  "  I  tell  you —  I  swear  to  you — 


154  MAY    MARGARET 

I  beseech  you.     I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing!     You 
yourself  know  I  did  not !  " 

"  Do  not  deny  it.  Do  not  dare  to  defend  yourself.  Do 
not  add  lies  to  your  wickednesses.  I  have  seen  it  for 
long,  long  years.  There — let  me  pass !  I  will  go  where 
the  innocents  sleep.  If  I  am  to  die,  at  least  let  me  die 
beside  them." 

"  Maud— Maud !  " 

She  made  as  if  to  go  in,  but  he  held  her  to  him. 

"  No,"  said  Sholto,  "  you  mistake.  All  I  said  was  that 
these  poor  five  bairnies  would  be  the  better  of  either  you 
or  me  to  care  for  them !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Maud  scornfully ;  "  and  it  is  evident 
that  you  must  often  have  been  thinking  of  this  before, 
to  have  your  answer  so  ready !  " 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Maud,"  said  Sholto,  "  never  before 
to-night " 

Maud  pointed  slowly  upwards  to  where  a  star  was 
beginning  to  shine,  sole  and  lonely  amid  the  purpling 
deeps  of  heaven. 

"  Do  not  be  profane,"  she  said.  "  There  is  One  yonder 
who  hears !  " 

"  I  care  not  if  the  four  corners  of  heaven  heard,"  cried 
Sholto  passionately.     "  I  will  swear " 

Maud  laid  her  hands  together  with  a  sweet  smile. 

"Swear  what?"  she  said,  suddenly  becoming  gentle. 

Sholto  scratched  his  head  in  some  perplexity. 

"  Upon  my  faith  and  word,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  not  an 
idea  what  it  is  all  about !  " 

Maud  burst  into  a  peal  of  merry  laughter,  and  clasped 
her  husband  in  her  arms. 

"  You  great  gowk,"  she  said.  "  Silly  boy,  will  you 
never  learn?  I  love  you.  Only  I  was  fretted.  I  have 
been  vexed  and  fretted  all  day,  and  you  would  not  attend 
to  me,  but  thought  only  of  your  stupid  armouries.  But 
I  made  you.  Now  let  us  make  up.  There,  there !  Will 
that  do?    Come,  let  us  go  in !  " 

.  .  •  .  • 

William  Douglas,  constrained  by  my  hand  silently  pro- 
testing rather  than  obedient,  had  sat  till  now.     He  rose, 


c 

2 

< 


oi 
O 

W 

o 


55 


INSTRUCTION   IN   LOVING  155 

and  we  went  back  into  the  little  chamber  of  reception 
which  adjoined  my  bed-chamber, 

"  Are  all  people  who  love  each  other  incurably  insane  ?  " 
he  asked  with  some  heat.  "  Does  love  make  of  Maud 
Lindsay,  that  incomparable  housewife  and  good  mother, 
a  puling,  yammering  fool?  Of  Sholto  McKim,  the  best 
lance  and  stoutest  heart  in  Scotland,  a  reed  blown  by  the 
wind,  a  withe  twined  round  a  woman's  fingers?  " 

"  Even  so,"  I  answer,  "  but  you  will  never  know  it!  " 

"  For  that,  thank  God,"  he  said.  "  There  are  quarrel- 
lings  enough,  and  argle-barglings  to  spare  in  broad  Scot- 
land without  domesticating  them  at  your  own  hearth- 
stone, and  having  the  house  you  live  in  turned  into  a 
bear-pit." 

"  William,"  I  said,  "  there  are  some  things  hid  from  the 
wise  and  prudent  and  revealed  unto  babes.  Maud  and 
Sholto  have  never  quarrelled  once  since  they  were 
married." 

He  snatched  his  hand  from  mine  hastily — why,  I  know 
not. 

"  I  am  not  a  babe,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can  believe  my  ears ! 
If  words  mean  anything  these  two  have  been  at  open 
enmity  for  an  hour  by  the  clock.  And  you — you — their 
friend,  have  made  an  eavesdropper  of  William  Douglas !  " 

At  this  I  laughed,  serenely  content. 

"  My  dear  husband,"  I  said,  "  shall  we  go  down  and 
ask  them  if  they  regret  their  quarrel?  For  me,  I 
judge " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  judge?  " 

"  That  it  would  be  better  and  happier  for  you  and  me, 
if  we  quarrelled  oftener  after  the  manner  of  Sholto 
and  Maud !  " 

This  time  I  was  not  prepared  for  him. 

"  Child,"  he  cried,  gripping  me  by  the  arm  so  hard  that 
he  hurt  it,  "  you  torment  me  past  bearing.  Either  you 
mean  a  thing  or  you  do  not.  Which  is  it  to  be — all  or 
nothing?  " 

I  thought  him  noble.  I  had  no  other  thought.  I  felt 
a  strange  numbness,  at  once  lax  and  faint,  steal  over  my 
limbs.     My  husband  held  me  in  his  arms.     There  was  a 


156  MAY    MARGARET 

fierce  energy  in  his  action.  He  hurt  me,  so  strong  he 
was. 

Then  from  the  chamber  beneath  there  came,  deep, 
throbbing,  and  somehow  infinitely  moving,  the  laugh  of 
Maud  Lindsay — suddenly  cut  in  the  midst  as  if  a  hand 
had  been  laid  across  her  mouth. 

The  sound  seemed  to  break  the  spell  that  was  on  him. 

"  No,"  he  cried,  loosing  me  abruptly — almost  indeed 
thrusting  me  from  him.  "  Shall  William  Douglas  break 
his  word,  sworn  and  plighted  ?  Shall  James  keep  the  oath 
which  I  have  broken  ?  " 

And  with  no  further  word  he  turned  and  strode  out  of 
the  chamber,  I  was  left  alone.  There  was  silence 
underneath,  save  that  a  little  while  after  a  charger 
neighed,  and,  looking  from  my  window,  I  saw  William 
Douglas,  my  husband,  halt  his  horse  on  a  little  knoll  out- 
side the  walls,  and  stand  a  long  while  looking  back — the 
beast,  fresh  from  the  stables,  meantime  tossing  his  head 
and  chafing  visibly  at  the  restraint. 

Then  he  rode  out  of  sight  and  I  was  alone  indeed — 
which  was  my  loss. 


CHAPTER   XXI 


DOUGLAS  RIDES  LATE 


The  days  went  by  at  Thrieve — some  few,  like  my  Arab, 
galloping,  most  like  a  funeral  train,  as  is  the  wont  of 
days  all  over  the  world.  Some  the  pigeons  in  the  court 
would  shorten,  flying  down  in  windy,  whistling  crowds 
to  peck  the  grain,  with  which,  in  spite  of  Sholto's  teeth, 
Magdalen  and  I  persisted  in  feeding  them.  With  Maud 
at  our  back  we  could  do  much. 

Larry  came  from  Sweetheart,  but  not  for  a  long  season, 
and,  indeed,  not  till  I  had  sent  for  him  a  full  score  of 
times.  There  was  something  most  unmonkishly  manful 
about  Laurence,  and  now,  when  Will  came  no  more  to 
Thrieve,  and  I  was  shut  off  from  James,  my  heart  desired 
to  see  the  lad.  For,  though  I  could  not  help  caring  for 
James  when  he  was  with  me  (being  so  great  and  strong, 
and,  as  it  were,  encompassing),  and  though  I  wished  to 
be  a  good  wife  to  my  husband,  yet,  it  is  no  shame  to  con- 
fess it,  as  a  friend  and  comrade  Laurence  was  more 
to  my  mind  than  either  of  them. 

I  am  not  even  now  sure  that  Laurence  would  have 
come  to  Thrieve  even  for  a  day,  in  spite  of  all  our 
entreaties,  had  it  not  been  that  his  father  sent  him  ill 
news  of  Magdalen.  It  was  not  that  the  *  child  was 
stricken  by  any  disease,  but  she  languished,  and  failed  to 
win  back  the  strength  she  had  lost. 

It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  I  saw  her  father 
appear  perturbed ;  for  the  armourer  was  bound  up  in  the 
maid,  as,  indeed,  were  all  her  brothers.  But  Laurence, 
I  think,  she  loved  best  of  all,  and  he  her. 

At  all  events,  swift  upon  that  summons  Laurence  came, 
first  to  the  Three  Thorns,  and  afterwards  to  Thrieve.  I 
found  him  paler  than  of  old,  and  more  quiet,  while  his 
face  lacked  its  bold,  fresh  boyishness.  I  could  also 
clearly  see  that  he  was  passing  anxious  about  his  sister. 

157 


158  MAY    MARGARET 

"  There  is  something  I  cannot  understand !  "  he  said, 
and  then  forthwith  was  silent. 

"  We  cannot  even  get  her  to  come  to  Thrieve,  can  we, 
Maud  ?  "  I  said.     "  Perhaps  she  will  accompany  you." 

But  Magdalen,  though  she  would  visit  us  with  Larry 
for  a  day,  would  not  remain.  She  loved  (she  said)  to 
take  long  solitary  walks  among  the  pine  forests  which  lie 
betwixt  the  Mollance  and  Crossmichael.  There  was,  as 
William  Douglas  had  said  truly,  none  to  do  her  wrong. 
For  not  only  did  the  fear  of  the  Earl  lie  heavy  upon  the 
land,  but  still  more  immediately  the  fear  of  Brawny 
Kim,  that  strong  smith  of  Carlinwark  and  his  seven  sons, 
who  would  follow  an  ill-doer  to  the  gallows  or  the  stake 
— as  indeed  they  had  done  with  the  Marshal  de  Retz  in 
the  country  of  Brittany. 

So  Laurence  came  and  went  amongst  us  once  more — 
sweet,  loving,  and  gracious  always.  But  somehow,  it  was 
not  now  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  Cour  Cheverney. 
My  wedding,  which  was  no  marriage,  separated  us.  He 
had,  as  I  guessed,  some  inkling  of  how  James  had  come 
between  William  Douglas  and  his  full  heritage. 

At  all  events  there  was  no  more  making  of  boats  to  sail 
on  the  broad  peat-brown  Dee  Water.  No  little  mills 
were  set  birling  in  the  burns  of  Glenlochar  and  Boreland. 
But  it  was  "  Yes,  my  lady  Countess !  "  And  "  No,  my 
Lady  of  Douglas,"  instead  as  of  old,  "  My  princess  "  and 
(at  least  once)  "Margaret  of  Margarets!"  But  of  all 
that,  no  trace. 

Yet,  knowing  that  Laurence  was  right,  I  liked  the  lad 
none  the  worse  because  of  his  carefulness  for  me. 

Still  there  were  good  days  at  Thrieve — set  in  between, 
as  it  were — when  we  would  wean  Magdalen  from  her 
lonely  haunts  and  Maud  from  her  Martha-housewifery, 
and  set  off  all  together  to  cull  the  flower  or  pull  the  nut. 
Any  excuse  or  none  served  us — so  that  we  could  win 
away  for  a  long  day  on  the  hills  of  Balmaghie  or  in  the 
woods  of  Kelton. 

Yet  I  loved  the  hills  best,  and  chiefly,  I  think,  because 
I  could  stay  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  and  look  away 
to  the  north  where  lay  Edinburgh  and  Stirling.     James 


DOUGLAS    RIDES    LATE  159 

Douglas  and  William  Douglas  were  there,  and  lo !  I  was 
shut  off  from  them  by  the  blue  hills  of  Carsphairn  and 
the  dun  muirs  of  the  Windy  Standard. 

Now  Magdalen  had  wandered  so  far  and  constantly 
that  she  knew  every  haunt  of  the  sweet  rough-rinded 
hazel-nuts,  the  dark  purple  blackberries  (which  in  their 
season  the  birds  ate  so  freely  that  every  grey  rock  and 
boulder  was  spotted  as  though  a  whole  army  of  scriv- 
eners had  jerked  their  pens  this  way  and  that).  She 
found  also  with  ease  the  creeping  cranberry,  the  whortle- 
berry, and  the  rare,  pale,  deep-hidden  strawberry. 

Not  only  so,  but  when  fruits  were  lacking,  Magdalen 
could  discern  the  Grass  of  Parnassus  long  ere  the  rest  of 
us  had  sighted  it.  She  knew  where  to  find  the  St.  John's 
Wort,  the  Great  Bluebell  and  the  Herb  Paris.  Yet  there 
was  nothing  enthusiastic  about  her  search.  With  all  her 
wondrous  beauty,  Magdalen  moved  rather  like  one  in 
a  dream,  going  to  the  flower  she  sought  directly,  like  a 
scent  dog  when  the  coneys  crouch  among  the  heather. 

Then,  when  we  came  back  tired  from  the  hills,  Magdalen 
would  make  straight  for  the  Three  Thorns,  moving  easily 
and  swiftly  over  the  knolls  like  a  young  deer,  while,  all 
gravely  and  sedately,  Laurence  would  return  by  my  side. 

Thus  went  the  months,  Laurence  going  back  all  too 
soon  to  his  abbacy,  till  it  was  another  spring  and  another 
fruit-time — then  another  and  yet  another,  so  that  it 
seemed  as  if  nothing  would  ever  change.  The  world 
must  stay  for  ever  thus.  And  then  I  could  have  cried 
out  for  the  castle  to  crash  in  upon  our  heads,  or  Michael's 
trump  to  break  up  the  grey  firmament  of  clouds  into  the 
flaming  fires  which  shall  consume  the  world — anything, 
if  only  all  things  would  not  be  so  eternally  the  same. 

And  I  think  I  prayed,  though  indeed  at  this  time  I  con- 
fess I  troubled  the  saints  not  much — the  convent  and  the 
Bald  Cat,  together  with  Sister  Eulalie,  having  put  me 
out  of  kilter  with  a  too  frequent  clicking  of  beads — which, 
indeed,  I  judged  to  be  chiefly  work  for  priests  and  such- 
like, who  had  but  little  to  do.  And  so  thought  Laurence 
also,  at  least  for  many  years. 

But  as  it  happens  mostly,  in  such  cases,  the  days  were 


i6o  MAY   MARGARET 

not  far  off  when  I  was  to  long  for  one  short  day  of 
the  peace  of  Thrieve,  the  kine  flicking  their  tails  on 
the  verges  of  the  water-meadows,  the  swaying  pull  of  the 
laden  hazel  branches  as  Laurence  held  them  down  on  the 
Airieland  braes — even  the  skirl  of  the  whaup  or  the  flap 
of  the  heron  seeking  their  nests  out  on  the  moorland  or 
down  among  the  reed-beds  of  the  Dee.  Yes,  I  longed  for 
them  all — all  that  world  of  peace — and  had  it  not. 
But  of  that — anon. 

.  •  •  •  • 

It  was  Malise  who  first  put  into  my  heart  the  fear  which 
ever  after  sat  heavily  upon  me. 

"  Little  lady,"  the  armourer  of  Thrieve  began  one  day 
as  he  stood  examining  the  bolts  of  the  great  door  of 
Thrieve,  "  have  you  never  given  to  your  husband  that 
advice  of  the  wise  king  of  auld  time,  the  which  Laurence 
read  me  out  of  his  learned  books  in  the  Latin  tongue — 
or  the  Greek,  I  mind  not  which." 

"  And  what  might  that  be,  Malise?  " 

"  To  switch  aff  the  heads  o'  the  mucklest  poppies !  "  he 
answered  gravely,  "  an'  that  richt  early.  For  if  he 
winna,  of  a  surety  there  shall  fall  a  head  so  high  that  it 
touches  the  stars  !  " 

"  You  mean  my  Lord  the  Earl  William's,"  I  answered ; 
"  fear  not  for  him,  Malise.  He  holds  them  all  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand !  " 

"  That  may  be  sae,"  persisted  the  smith,  "  I  doot  it  not. 
But,  mind  ye,  I  have  seen  ere  this  a  hundred  yelpin'  curs 
pu'  doon  a  stag-o'-ten-tines !  " 

And  the  advice  was  good.  For  at  this  period  William 
Douglas  was  like  to  none  in  all  the  land,  and  when  he  went 
forth  the  Crichtons  were  as  nothing  before  him,  hiding 
away  in  holes  and  corners.  Even  Livingston  the  Tutor 
had  made  friends  with  him,  or  at  least  seemed  to  do  so. 
The  worst  of  the  ancient  abuses  were  stubbed  down, 
digged  up,  or  rooted  out  of  the  land.  And  all  was  done 
without  cruelty  or  the  least  hardship  to  any,  save  only  to 
those  who  did  evil  to  their  neighbours  or  to  the  poor  at 
their  gates.     On  such  William  Douglas  had  no  pity. 

Yet  for  all,  so  simple  was  he,  he  never  guessed  that 


DOUGLAS    RIDES    LATE  i6i 

when  the  King  delivered  to  him  all  authority,  and,  pre- 
tending to  make  much  of  him,  sent  him  off  on  great 
embassies  to  London,  to  Paris,  to  Rome  itself,  it  was 
always  that  he  himself  might  escape  from  control  and 
return  to  his  favourites  as  a  dog  to  his  vomit.  But,  in 
spite  of  King  and  favourites,  William  Douglas  waxed 
ever  greater  and  greater  in  the  land — for  a  time. 

Then  came  a  cooling  in  the  ardour  of  the  King's  good- 
will. But  of  this,  also,  William  took  no  heed,  continuing 
to  make  treaties  with  England  and  France  for  the 
country's  advantage  in  trade  and  well-being.  Also  he 
banded  the  more  sober  parts  of  the  North  into  one  league 
with  himself,  so  that  even  the  barbarous  and  pagan  Isles 
(called  of  Skye  and  the  Long  Island)  were  made  to  obey 
and  pay  dues  as  regularly  as  the  Lowdens  and  Fife.  It 
was  well  said  afterwards  that  the  land  made  a  greater 
advancement  during  these  short  years  of  William  Doug- 
las's vice-regality  than  it  had  done  since  the  Battle  of  the 
Standard. 

But  much  of  this  came  to  us  in  our  island-prison  only 
in  over-words  and  snatches.  Save  that  which  concerned 
itself,  little  gossip  reached  Thrieve.  Packman  and  car- 
riers from  Lanerick  and  Dumfries  brought  us  most  of  our 
news.  On  important  occasions  a  messenger  for  Sholto 
would  come  in  with  his  beast  all  of  a  lather,  or  if  it  were 
night  or  winter,  in  a  perfect  breathing  mist  of  steamy 
vapour. 

One  night  in  particular  I  remember.  It  was  in  the  deep 
middle  of  winter — that  is  to  say,  in  February.  For 
mostly  winter  begins  in  Scotland  with  the  inbringing  of 
the  Yule  log.  Sholto  was  at  Douglas  Castle  on  some 
business  of  the  Earl's.  Andro  the  Penman  was  in  com- 
mand at  Thrieve,  and,  with  his  stick  and  hard  words, 
scarce  managed  to  secure  that  discipline  which  Sholto 
enforced  with  the  mere  glint  of  an  eye  or  the  indrawing 
of  a  resolute  lip.  But  then  Sholto  was  a  knight  and  in 
full  authority,  and  Andro  the  Penman  only  one  of  the 
Guard — as  it  were,  first  among  his  peers. 

It  was  a  night  of  snow.  The  afternoon  had  fallen  upon 
the  face  of  the  country  greenish-grey  and  dour,  with  a 


i62  MAY    MARGARET 

bitter  nip  in  the  air.  Andro  the  Penman  sniffed  and  said, 
"  Snow !  "  Maud,  with  her  nose  to  the  wind,  looked  out 
on  the  terrace  towards  the  north,  in  turn  shook  her  head 
and  said  "  Snow !  And  I  pray  that  that  goodman  of 
mine  may  be  somewhere  snug  in  hold  to-night." 

Then  she  went  and  saw  to  it  that  the  bairns'  window- 
shutters  were  properly  fastened  inside  the  shot  bars 
which  kept  them  from  falling  out  ten  times  a  day. 

Then,  softly  at  first,  small  dampish  snow  began  to  fall 
drizzlingly,  drifting  on  the  ledges,  forming  into  little 
piles  behind  the  gargoyles,  and  making  long  lines  with 
waving  crests  in  the  roof  gutters.  The  men  on  guard 
on  the  towers  and  about  the  fortifications  had  an  ill  time 
of  it.  The  storm  seemed  to  take  them  every  way  at 
once. 

"  God  help  all  such  as  are  abroad  to-night !  "  I  said,  as 
I  drew  my  furs  close  about  me.  For  even  in  the  great 
hall,  with  fires  blazing  at  either  end,  piled  high  with 
beech-logs  and  crackling  bog-oak,  hissing  birchen  twigs, 
and  steady  burning  peat,  it  was  bitter  cold. 

And  so  that  February  afternoon  the  twilight  darkened 
early  into  the  solid  blackness  of  Egypt.  Wrapped  in 
shawls,  Maud  and  I  sat  about  the  fire,  after  we  had 
supped,  the  candles  feeble  behind  us,  and  the  tapestries 
on  the  walls  moving  in  long  regular  waves,  that  seemed 
to  go  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  giving  boars 
and  hunters  and  steeds  a  wonderful  appearance  of  life. 

It  was  creepy  and  eerie  enough  sitting  there  in  the 
leaping  firelight.  And  Maud  did  not  help  matters,  with 
her  Highland  tales  of  second-sight  and  death  warnings, 
added  to  my  own  reminiscences  of  the  wicked  Lord 
Soulis,  with  his  familiar  spirit.  Red  Cap.  More  than 
once  we  looked  fearfully  over  our  shoulders  expecting 
to  see  that  famous  imp  leaping  out  of  the  old  charter- 
chest  to  ask  for  new  labours  and  to  remind  his  master 
of  his  promised  wages. 

Such  tales,  told  in  the  flicker  of  the  twilight,  in  a  castle 
full  of  dark  deeds  and  memories,  might  well  try  the 
strongest  nerves,  and  it  is  small  wonder  that  presently 
Maud  murmured,  "  Oh,  I  wish  that  Sholto  were  here!  '* 


DOUGLAS    RIDES    LATE  163 

But  it  was  not  Sholto  who  was  to  visit  Thrieve  that 
night.  Red  Cap  had,  indeed,  been  at  his  tricks,  and,  at 
any  moment,  we  might  expect  his  head  out  of  the  chest 
with  a  demand  for  his  wages. 

Long  time  we  sat  thus,  Maud  and  I,  listening  to  the 
varying  roll  of  the  tempest  without,  discerning  at  inter- 
vals a  shriller  note  as  the  wind,  halting  as  if  to  catch  its 
breath  upon  the  outer  walls,  leaped  with  a  fierce  hoot 
upon  the  huge  square  keep  of  Thrieve,  whistled  through 
its  window  bars,  clanged  every  unpinned  door,  and  al- 
most tore  from  its  staff  the  banner  that  flapped  and 
lunged  noisily  above  the  highest  battlements. 

At  intervals  Maud  would  raise  her  head  as  if  listening 
for  Sholto's  return.  But  it  was  really  toward  the  chil- 
dren's chamber  that  her  ear  inclined.  Then  after  three  or 
four  hearkenings,  her  anxiety  would  compel  her  to  rise 
and  steal  up  on  tiptoe  into  that  place  of  sweet  children's 
breathings,  with  the  shutters  closed  upon  the  windows 
and  the  peat  fire  smouldering  red  upon  the  hearth.  From 
bed  to  bed  she  would  steal,  laying  a  kiss  on  that  tress  of 
flax  and  yonder  dark  head  of  crispy  black,  all  the  while 
with  a  mother's  adoring  look  plain  in  her  eyes. 

At  which  point,  if  I  accompanied  her,  I  was  wont  to 
betake  me  down  with  a  little  jealous  pain  pinching 
shrewdly  at  my  heart.  But  that  night,  whether  from 
wistful  feeling  akin  to  the  storm,  or  in  sympathy  with 
the  poor  houseless  knaves  and  gangrel  wenches  abroad 
in  the  snow,  I  sat  still  where  I  was,  wae  and  silent,  by  the 
fire  in  the  great  hall  of  Thrieve.  The  snow  was  not 
the  ordinary  snow  of  Galloway,  broad,  moist  and  flaked, 
but  had  changed  into  small,  bitter,  east-land  snow,  more 
like  powdered  ice.  I  could  hear  it  patter  against  the 
closed  windows,  and  fall  with  a  hushing  sound  on  the 
wooden  roof  of  the  balcony  above. 

Silently  Syneton,  the  French  boy  William  had  brought 
with  him  to  be  groom  to  my  Arab,  would  enter  and  heap 
fresh  logs  on  the  fire.  As  silently  he  would  disappear. 
A  Galloway  lad  of  his  years  would  have  clanked  in  with 
a  pair  of  wooden  clogs  all  too  scantily  wiped  on  a  wisp 
of  straw  brought  from  the  barn.     But  Syneton  went  and 


1 64  MAY    MARGARET 

came  like  a  shadow — clean,  swift,  and  bidable — a  treas- 
ure save  in  this,  that  the  truth  was  not  in  him. 

Above,  Maud  Lindsay  tarried  long,  and  I  grew  weary 
and  a  little  afraid.  I  think  Maud  forgot  herself  when 
she  gat  among  her  babes.  At  least,  she  would  promise 
solemnly  to  descend  in  one  short  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
then  look  aggrieved  and  hurt  when  it  was  pointed  out  to 
her  that  hei'  absence  had  extended  over  an  hour  and  a 
half!  Then  it  was  that  she  would  say,  as  if  that  ex- 
plained all,  "  Ah,  you  are  not  a  mother,  Margaret !  " 

And- 1  would  reply,  "  Nor  you,  Mistress  Maud,  a  maid 
that  should  be  none  !  " 

Which  (though  truth)  did  not  greatly  mend  matters. 

And  indeed,  to  be  just,  Maud  did  not  boast  of  her  brave 
bairns,  though  I  know  her  heart  stirred  within  her  with 
pride. 

At  any  rate,  I  was  long  alone — left  with  my  thoughts  in 
the  uncertain  flicker  of  the  firelight,  while  the  wind  down 
the  wide  chimney  scattered  the  grey  wood  ashes  abroad 
over  the  oaken  floor,  and  over  William's  great  rug  of 
Turkey  stuflf. 

Then  through  a  pause  of  the  storm,  I  heard  a  far-off 
sound,  clear  and  piercing,  but  so  distant  that  I  started 
as  if  from  a  dream.  It  was  like  a  trumpet  blown  in  the 
lists  before  the  bars  are  let  down,  and  the  champions  bid 
"  fall  to."  I  smiled.  Certainly  I  had  been  dreaming. 
So  anew  I  began  to  watch  the  clear  blue  flames  licking 
and  hissing  upwards  about  the  new  wood,  the  equal 
orange  of  the  seasoned  billets,  and  the  rich  red  glow  of 
the  back  log,  half  eaten  into  by  the  long  afternoon's 
fire. 

Again  it  seemed  that  I  dreamed.  But  nearer,  clearer, 
more  insistent,  the  notes  came  to  my  ear,  blown  as  Lau- 
rence used  to  blow  them  when  he  was  ready  to  convey 
me  across  to  the  flower-gathering,  in  the  boat  which  he 
had  stolen  from  old  grumble-pate  A'Cormack,  at  the 
gate-house  by  the  drawbridge. 

Eagerly  I  lifted  my  head,  and  listened  with  long  and 
strained  attention.  But  I  heard  only  the  hurl  of  the 
tempest  overhead  among  the  high  roof  spaces  of  Thrieve, 


DOUGLAS    RIDES    LATE  165 

the  steady  "  brool  "  of  the  wind  all  about  the  four  corners 
of  grim,  impassive  masonry,  the  spirting  sound  of  the 
snow — small,  like  hail — on  the  windows.  I  had  been  mis- 
taken. None  could  possibly  be  abroad  on  such  a  night ; 
at  any  rate  so  much  the  worse  for  them  if  they  were! 
Thrieve  was  a  shut  gate,  a  fortress  barred.  None  could 
enter  there.  Only  Sholto  had  the  word — Sholto  and  his 
master. 

But  yet  a  third  time,  and  very  near,  I  heard  the  trumpet 
blow — clarion  clear,  net  as  thunder-clap  when  thunder 
follows  flash  swifter  than  thought  succeeds  to  thought. 
Something  struck  the  window  at  that  moment;  it  might 
have  been  only  the  icy  fingers  of  the  storm,  save  that  it 
sounded  more  soHd.  It  struck  again,  and  yet  again.  I 
was  affrighted,  and  I  cried  aloud  for  Maud ;  but  she  was 
above,  effaced  among  the  tangles  of  blonde  and  dark 
that  were  scattered  on  the  nursery  pillows. 

The  noise  came  again,  with  a  crying  that  was  like  the 
soul  of  a  man  in  pain. 

But,  mastering  myself,  I  went  to  the  window  and  flung 
it  open.  Something  huge  and  black,  which  might  have 
been  a  raven  or  a  great  bird  of  prey,  fluttered  away  into 
the  half-luminous  mist  of  the  courtyard. 

I  looked  down  in  amazement.  There  were  torches  be- 
neath, awakening  voices,  apparent  through  the  enveloping 
snow.  The  window  I  had  opened  slammed  to  in  one  of 
the  fierce  gusts,  and  caught  my  hand  in  the  sill. 

I  stood  sucking  at  the  hurt  like  a  baby,  half  crying,  and 
in  the  intervals  of  pain  calling  for  Maud  almost  like  one 
of  her  own  bairns,  when  suddenly  the  door  of  the  great 
hall  was  flung  open,  and  the  tapestry  parted  itself  as  with 
the  wrench  of  a  strong  hand. 

It  was  my  husband  who  stood  before  me,  with  such  an 
expression  on  his  face  as  I  had  never  seen  there  before. 
Mired  and  slimed  he  was  with  the  bogs  and  morasses  of 
his  long  travel,  the  snow  lying  white  in  the  links  of  his 
armour  and  along  the  verges  of  his  breast-plate.  He 
held  only  a  plain  steel  cap  in  his  hand,  without  plume  or 
ensign.  For  he  had  ridden  light  like  a  moss-trooper, 
with  only  a  single  attendant  at  his  heels. 


1 66  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Where  is  James  Douglas,  my  brother  ?  "  he  panted 
rather  than  spoke. 

And  the  anger,  cold  and  bitter,  on  his  face  almost 
deprived  me  of  the  power  of  reply. 

"  Come,"  he  said  roughly,  "  where  have  you  hidden 
him  ?     Tell  me  quickly !  " 

"  James  " — I  stammered  with  that  surprise  which  is 
so  often  mistaken  for  the  signs  of  guilt,  "  James  Doug- 
las ?     I  have  not  seen  him  since  my  wedding  day !  " 

William  stood  staring  at  me  for  a  long  moment  and 
then  dropping  his  head  between  his  wet  hands,  he  cried, 
"  Great  God,  have  I  wronged  him  ?  " 

There  came  a  new  voice  from  the  doorway. 

"  As  to  that  I  know  nothing,  and  as  little  care,  my  lord 
of  Douglas  !  "  cried  Maud  Lindsay.  "  But  this  I  do  know, 
right  bitterly  and  right  grievously  have  you  wronged  your 
wife." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE    DOUGLAS     BIDS     GOOD-BYE 

I  LOOKED  Up  and  saw  Maud  stand  in  the  doorway,  left 
open  by  the  tumultuous  entrance  of  my  husband.  She 
held  back  the  tapestry  with  her  hand.  No  Numidian 
lioness  at  the  entrance  of  her  den,  her  cublings  mouthing 
behind  her,  could  have  appeared  more  fierce.  To  look 
at  Maud's  mouth,  upon  ordinary  occasions,  you  would 
never  believe  she  could  have  snarled.  But  she  did.  I 
saw  her.  She  stood  for  a  moment  without  speech  while 
my  husband  hid  his  face  between  his  hands.  Yet  she 
did  not  relax  or  relent.  I  could  not  have  believed  my 
Maud  so  impitiable.  But  I  knew  afterwards  that  she 
was  mindful  of  the  time  when  I  had  been  to  her  as  a 
babe  between  her  hands,  and  she  was  heartsore  to  see  me 
fallen  (as  she  said)  between  the  stools  of  men's  love  and 
their  lust  for  power.  A  motherly  woman  can  never  un- 
derstand (or  forgive)  that  last,  save  in  her  own  sons. 
Then  it  becomes  a  "  proper  ambition."  Besides,  another 
woman  has  to  bear  the  brunt  of  it — not  she. 

Thus  it  was  that  in  spite  of  lier  husband,  Maud  never 
truly  appreciated  William  Douglas.  But  then  too  that 
was  natural  enough — her  test  of  all  men,  gentle  and 
simple,  being  merely,  "Would  Sholto  have  done  this? 
Would  Sholto  have  said  that?" 

As  for  me  I  said  nothing.  Truly  I  did  not  understand 
this  sudden  irruption,  or  why  William  Douglas  had  thus 
burst  in  upon  our  quiet. 

But  Maud  needed  no  instruction,  she  was  ripe  enough 
and  ready  enough  with  her  interpretations,  and  they 
erred  not  on  the  side  of  charity.  Of  that,  small  danger 
where  William  was  concerned. 

"  There,"  she  said,  waving  her  hand  abroad,  with  some- 

167 


1 68  MAY    MARGARET 

thing  of  her  old  mocking  vixenry,  "  go — search  the  castle. 
It  is  yours — by  marriage.  You  will  not  even  find  my 
husband  here.  He  is  doing  your  errands  at  Douglas 
Castle.  So  neither  one  of  us  has  ever  a  man  to  defend 
our  repute,  or  speak  a  word  in  our  favour.  Go  search 
Thrieve  from  dungeon  to  battlements  if  you  will !  Ques- 
tion the  scullions !  Send  for  the  pantlers !  Mayhap  we 
have  your  brother  hid  in  the  cellarage -" 

"  Maud,"  I  said,  "  be  silent,  I  bid  you.  You  forget  to 
whom  you  speak !  " 

But  William  Douglas  waved  me  with  his  hand  to  let  her 
go  on. 

"  She  is  right.  I  deserve  this  and  more,"  he  said,  in 
a  broken  voice.  (That  ever  I  should  have  lived  to  hear  the 
like  from  so  noble  a  man!)  "But  James  left  me  at 
Edinburgh,  riding  southward,  knowing  that  I  was  sum- 
moned in  haste  to  meet  the  King  at  Stirling.  So,  the 
fit  being  on  me,  I  let  the  King  wait,  and  followed  James. 
Yes,  I  followed  till  I  lost  him  upon  the  Flowe  of  Lochen- 
kit.  It  was  just  when  this  accursed  storm  broke.  I 
saw  him  before  me  not  half  a  mile,  my  brother  James  or 
his  ghost.     Where  is  he  if  not  here  ?  " 

Maud  Lindsay  came  over  to  me  and  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  my  arm.  "  Go  up  to  your  chamber,  bairnie," 
she  said ;  "  when  right  is,  and  I  have  spoken  my  mind,  I 
will  come  to  thee." 

Then  to  William  she  said,  "  This  child  knows  nothing 
of  evil  things — scarcely  of  evil  thoughts.  Speak  the 
things  you  have  to  say  to  me,  and  I  will  tell  her  that  which 
must  be  told.  Remember,  she  is  a  maid,  walking  in  the 
midst  of  marvels  not  half  understood.  Go,  Margaret! 
I  will  follow  !  " 

And  for  a  moment  I  think  she  thought  of  me  as  no  more 
than  her  own  Marcelle — grown  a  little  older,  but  no  whit 
the  wiser,  or  the  twins,  Cuthbert  and  Bride  (anything 
but  saints!)  or  sturdy  Ulric,  or  even  little  piping  David 
with  the  castle  Bubbly  Jock  goldering  at  his  tail.  At  any 
rate,  one  she  loved  was  being  harassed  and  so  Maud 
ruffled  her  feathers,  drooped  her  wings  and  made  ready 
beak  and  claw.     So  that  woe  betide  the  intruder,  be  he 


THE   DOUGLAS    BIDS    GOOD-BYE        169 

Earl  of  Douglas — or  as  aforesaid  merely  the  turkey  cock 
from  the  stables. 

What  passed  at  that  interview  I  do  not  know — that  is, 
not  such  a  version  as  can  be  set  down  in  this  place.  For 
women  talk  differently  to  each  other  when  men  are  out 
of  hearing,  and  I  suppose  it  is  the  same  with  writing. 

But  at  all  events  it  ended  in  this,  that  William  would 
stay  at  Thrieve  only  so  long  as  behoved  him  to  change 
his  wet  undergarments,  and  take  such  refreshment  as 
could  be  got  ready  by  young  cook  A'Cormack,  the  son 
of  our  ancient  porter  of  the  gatehouse. 

"  Then,"  said  Maud,  "  Earl  William  will  ride  on  to  the 
Three  Thorns,  where  he  has  somewhat  to  say  to  my 
father.  One  or  two  of  the  McKim  lads  will  guide  him 
to  Sweetheart  Abbey.  There  he  will  rest  what  time  he 
may  before  rendering  himself  to  the  King  at  Stirling. 
But,  before  departing,  he  asks  that  he  may  have  the 
honour  of  bidding  you  good-bye !  You  will  find  him 
humble  and  of  a  good  spirit.  Certes  I  have  laboured 
your  ground  right  faithfully  for  you.  Go  now  and  sow 
well  therein !  " 

"  I  think  you  were  overly  hard  upon  him,  Maud,"  I  said. 
For,  indeed,  so  it  had  seemed  to  me. 

Maud  pouted  her  lips  a  little  and  set  her  hands  on  her 
thighs  with  a  defiant  action  she  had. 

"Is  there  aught  the  matter  with  Sholto?"  she  said. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  but  why  do  you  ask  that?  " 

"  What  I  have  said  to-night  to  William  Douglas  is  very 
milk  diet  to  what  I  have  reared  Sholto  upon ! "  she 
answered.  "  But  if  you  think  barley  water  is  better,  try 
it !  "  The  which  was  very  well,  but  then  Maud  was  like 
no  one  else  in  the  world.  Though  but  the  wife  of  the 
captain  of  Thrieve,  she  moved  as  a  queen  among  those 
about  her,  and  the  power  was  given  her  to  sway  men  and 
women  alike. 

So  upon  this  occasion  it  turned  out  even  as  Maud  had 
predicted.  William  Douglas  met  me  with  a  chastened 
humility  which  set  my  heart  beating  with  pity  for  him. 
I  hated  to  see  him  brought  so  low  by  any  woman,  even 
in  my  own  cause. 


170  MAY   MARGARET 

"  Must  you  go  to-night?  "  I  said.  "  You  know  the  Earl's 
room  is  always  ready  at  Thrieve.  'Tis  but  seldom  the 
sheets  have  been  fresh-laid  during  these  years.  Stay  to- 
night !     I  will  serve  you  with  mine  own  hands !  " 

But  some  hidden  reason — the  instancy  of  his  business, 
his  need  to  see  the  King,  or  that  which  he  had  to  say  to 
Sholto's  father  at  the  Three  Thorns  or  his  brother  at 
Sweetheart,  held  him  firm  to  his  purpose ! 

"  I  have  asked  to  bid  you  farewell,  Margaret,"  he  said, 
"  because  I  may  not  have  the  chance  of  seeing  you  again 
or  of  saying  that  which  must  be  said  between  us  before 
I  go  hence  !  " 

"  Hush,  William,"  I  answered  a  little  tremulously, 
"  there  is  a  God  behind  these  things.  This  is  not  the  end 
between  us !  You  have  gone  away  before,  and  after  this 
time  you  will  return  again !  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  smile,  curiously  memor- 
able and  wistful  to  me,  making  the  heart  wae,  "  not  the 
end.  For  I  leave  you  as  a  legacy — the  best  of  my 
heritage,  intact  and  intangible,  to  my  brother — my 
brother  whom  you  love !  " 

He  dropped  his  voice  at  the  last  words,  not  with  anger 
or  any  appeal  for  pity,  but  only  with  a  certain  grave  wist- 
fulness,  like  one  who,  having  a  great  cellar  of  rare 
vintages,  may  not  drink  of  them,  being  vowed  a  Naz- 
arene. 

"  What  is  this  you  say,  William  ?  "  I  said,  "  that  you 
will  not  come  back?  You  are  surely  not  afraid — you 
the  greatest  man  in  the  kingdom — you  the  Earl  of  Doug- 
las— you  my  husband ?" 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  almost  as  if  he  had  groaned,  "  yes — I 
am  your  husband — and  it  is  on  that  account  that  I  am 
afraid." 

I  only  looked  softly  and  inquiringly  at  him,  to  give  him 
time.  For,  indeed,  after  the  gloaming  on  which  we  sat 
listening  to  Sholto  and  Maud,  there  was  no  self-reproach 
in  my  mind  with  regard  to  William  Douglas. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated  after  me,  "  I  am  the  greatest  man  in 
the  kingdom.  That  is  true.  But  there  are  many  who 
strive  for  the  second  place.     The  King  loves  me  not.     I 


THE   DOUGLAS    BIDS   GOOD-BYE        171 

scorn  him.  He  is  but  a  headstrong  boy  with  the  strength 
of  arm  wherewith  his  great-greatest-grandsire  killed 
Comyn.  Yet,  to  be  a  Bruce,  he  lacks  the  head  that  knew 
how  to  win  Bannockburn.  Notwithstanding,  he  has  re- 
solved to  make  garden-mould  of  the  Douglases,  whereon 
to  grow  the  maggots  of  his  poor  unripe  brain !  " 

"  But,  yet,  has  he  not  made  you  the  Governor  of  Edin- 
burgh and  Lieutenant-General  of  Scotland  ?  " 

"Assuredly,"  he  smiled;  "but  his  favour  is  more  un- 
stable than  the  swing  of  the  sea  among  tide-covered 
rocks — rising  and  falling,  but  always  deadly." 

"  Then  why  go  to  Stirling  at  all  ?  "  I  asked. 

Will  drew  a  paper  from  his  bosom. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  is  a  safe  conduct,  under  the  King's 
own  hand  and  seal,  with  the  names  of  all  his  new  coun- 
cillors attached  as  witnesses.  Will  you  have  it  to  curl 
your  love-locks  withal?  Or,  perchance,  to  light  the 
kitchen  fire  of  Thrieve  ?  It  is  worth  no  more  ;  no,  nor  the 
word  of  any  Stewart !  Yet  go  I  must  and  will,  if  all  that 
I  have  done  is  not  to  be  undone — all  the  Good  to  fall  back 
to  the  111,  all  the  ancient  ramping  misery  set  its  foot  again 
on  the  poor  folk  of  Scotland — those  honest  burghers, 
those  hinds  of  the  broad  ploughland,  those  herds  of  the 
hills,  whose  burdens  I  have  lightened.  They  look  to  me 
as  their  helper,  their  deliverer.  I  cannot  leave  them  to 
perish." 

"And  for  mef"  I  murmured,  questioning  him  with 
mine  eyes. 

Here  William  Douglas  bent  gently  over  toward  me, 
lifted  my  hand  and  touched  it  with  his  lips,  yet  all  rever- 
ently, as  one  who  in  church  takes  holy  bread. 

"  Yes,    Margaret,    you ,"    he    said ;    "  have    I    not 

thought  of  you?  Ever  since  that  day  my  thoughts  of 
you  have  been  many  and  sore.  I  have  come  to  Thrieve 
but  seldom.  For  in  our  hearts  the  tides  of  life  somehow 
run  crossways,  as  in  that  Strait  of  Ireland  that  looks 
towards  St.  Patrick's  Port! 

"  Yet,  all  the  same,  according  to  my  possible,  I  have 
loved  you,  Margaret — yes,  and  held  you  sacred.  If  it 
be  so  that  I  go  to  my  death — being  bound  by  my  duty 


172  MAY   MARGARET 

and  the  name  we  both  bear — think  not  too  unkindly  of 
me.  And,  it  may  be,  sometime  when  you  are  happiest, 
stand  a  moment  by  his  grave  and  muse  of  William 
Douglas.     He  has  not  done  so  ill  by  you." 

"  Dear  Will — dear  cousin,"  I  cried,  "  of  course  I  can- 
not choose  but  keep  you  in  my  heart.  You  are  the  best 
man  in  the  world.    There  is  no  one  like  you !  " 

He  smiled  sadly,  and  made  a  little  motion  with  his 
hands  in  the  French  manner  as  if  that  mattered  little. 
For  which  indeed  he  had  some  excuse. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  James  was  right — I  wrong.  I  have 
not  taken  the  way  to  get  the  pleasure  of  a  man.  The 
love  of  woman  is  not  for  me.  I  might  grow  old  without 
ever  having  known  it.  But  I  thank  God  I  shall  never 
grow  old.  I  leave  to  James  to  enter  into  that  which 
I  have  kept  for  him,  and  to  rejoice  in  possessing  what 
has  never  been  mine !  " 

"  See,  Will,"  I  said  gently,  "  you  are  sick  and  need 
rest.  Speak  no  hard  things  to-night.  Think  none  either 
of  me  or  of  yourself,  and  by  the  morning  the  dark  spectres 
of  your  fears  shall  have  vanished.  What  is  it  that  Sir 
Harry  says  at  mass? 

"  '  Sorrow  endureth  for  a  night,  hut  joy  cometh  in  the 
morning! 

"  That  may  be  so  for  you,  little  one,"  he  said  softly. 
"  God  send  it !  But  for  the  men  of  the  Douglases,  they 
are  doomed — even  as  the  Stewarts  are  doomed,  but 
we  of  the  Southern  House  to  better  deaths  in  nobler 
causes !  " 

"  Do  not  care  for  that — rest  to-night,  dear  Will !  "  I 
pled  with  him.  Because  I  had  no  anger  against  him  on 
account  of  his  errand,  at  that  time  knowing  nothing  of 
jealousies  or  unbeliefs.  And  besides  (in  his  long 
absence)   I  had  grown  to  think  seldomer  of  James. 

But  William  shook  his  head,  smiling,  however,  to 
soften  his  denial. 

"  I  must  bear  it  through  alone,  little  woman,"  he  said, 
as  if  to  a  child.  "  You  are  good  to  forgive — not  to  be 
angry  with  me,"  he  continued,  softly.  "  What  shall  it 
be  thought  of  the  man  who  had  an  orchard  enclosed  and 


THE   DOUGLAS    BIDS    GOOD-BYE        173 

hath  not  eaten  of  the  fruit  of  it — a  garden  of  pleasant 
fruits  and  hath  not  walked  therein?  And  now — it  is  too 
late — it  is  too  late !  " 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  holding  it  open,  shouted, 
"  Without  there !  "  and  Andro  the  Penman  appeared, 
prompt  at  his  master's  call. 

"  Saddle  me  the  grey,"  he  said,  sharply,  "  the  Spanish 
stallion  which  the  Agnew  sent  me  from  Lochnaw !  " 

"  My  Lord,  the  snow  is  deepening ! "  said  Andro, 
pleadingly.  Will  Douglas  made  the  stern  little  move- 
ment with  his  hand  which,  with  him,  signified  the  finality 
of  his  will.  Andro  bent  his  head  and  was  going  out. 
He  turned,  however,  at  the  door. 

"  At  least  let  me  go  with  you,"  he  pleaded ;  "  it  is  a 
terrible  night.  I  know  the  ways.  There  may  be  unseen 
foes ! " 

"  The  more  reason,"  answered  Will  Douglas,  "  why 
you  should  stay  and  keep  the  castle  where — my — wife — 
abides  alone." 

The  Penman  went  out  without  another  word. 

Then  William  turned  to  me.  For  the  first  time  the 
eyes  of  the  man  looked  into  my  soul.  Dimly  I  began 
to  see  what  I  had  lost,  yet  even  then  my  soul  within  me 
would  not  take  blame  to  itself.  He  had  kept  his  heart 
from  me  in  a  locked  coffer.  What  if,  of  a  truth,  it 
stood  open  now?  But  in  another  moment  I  knew  that, 
as  he  had  said,  it  was  indeed  too  late. 

I  did  not  any  more  try  to  detain  him.  Yet,  for  all 
that,  he  did  not  go.  He  stood,  shifting  uncertainly  from 
one  foot  to  another,  awkward  as  a  village  lover  at  a 
country  dance — he,  the  master  of  a  kingdom,  the  Earl 
of  Douglas,  the  Lord  of  Galloway — my  husband ! 

Yet  even  for  that  my  heart  leaped  within  me.  For 
there  came  over  me  that  mysterious  sixth  sense  that  is 
given  to  all  women,  who,  from  princesses  to  kitchen- 
wenches,  know  when  it  is  the  heart  of  a  man  to  kiss 
them.  And  this  man  so  desired.  Only — believe  it  who 
can — he  knew  not  how  to  begin. 

So  since  I  possessed  neither  his  awkwardness  nor — 
his   simplicity,   presently  taking   pity   upon  the  man,   I 


174  MAY    MARGARET 

kissed  him  of  mine  own  accord.  Lightly  it  was  and 
somewhat  laughingly. 

That  little  act  seemed  to  overturn  all  his  calm — to  send 
a  turmoil  through  the  strong  man's  soul. 

"  Margaret ! "  he  whispered  hoarsely,  and  then  again, 
"  Margaret !  " 

Whereat  with  a  sudden  anger,  half  at  himself  and  half 
perhaps  at  Fate,  he  gripped  me  fiercely  in  his  arms,  hold- 
ing me  hard  and  tight,  kissing  me  the  while  on  hair  and 
brow,  on  eyes  and  cheeks.  Last  of  all  he  kissed  me  on 
the  lips — once,  twice,  thrice — and  was  gone,  without 
word,  leaving  me  alone  and  dizzy,  maintaining  myself, 
one  hand  on  the  table  of  the  great  hall,  as  I  listened  sway- 
ingly  to  the  clatter  of  his  way-going. 

But  I  heard  nothing.  The  snow  had  deadened  the 
hoof-irons  of  the  horse,  and  only  the  blast  battered  and 
raved  more  and  more  wildly  about  the  towers  of  Thrieve 
— now  for  me  grown  more  desolate  than  ever. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE     FIRST     STROKE     OF    DOOM 

They  brought  me  word.  It  was  Laurence  who  came. 
James  had  sent  him — not,  I  think,  knowing — or  perhaps 
in  his  insolence  of  security,  not  caring.  And  what  it 
was,  I  must  strive  to  tell  dryly  and  plainly,  if  at  all. 

My  husband,  William  Douglas,  had  ridden  forth  that 
night  by  the  Three  Thorns  to  have  speech  with  Malise, 
and  to  ask  that  some  of  the  lads  should  accompany  him 
to  Sweetheart. 

But  the  ancient  armourer  of  the  Douglas  House, 
having  had  his  own  way  ever  since  he  came  into  the 
world  (or  having  taken  it)  bade  saddle  his  own  beast, 
saying  that  he  alone  could  and  would  guide  his  lord  to 
the  Abbey  of  Sweetheart.  So  to  Dulce  Cor  they  had 
gone  both  of  them  together,  through  the  deadliest  hurl 
of  the  storm,  taking  the  coast  road,  which,  though  more 
difficult,  was  less  likely  to  be  blocked,  because  in  these 
parts  the  wind  blows  the  snow  behind  the  boulders  and 
out  into  the  sea.     Strange,  but  so  it  is,  in  our  Galloway. 

Thence  after  some  secret  speech  with  Laurence,  and 
a  rest  of  several  hours.  Will  Douglas  had  ridden  away 
northward  to  meet  the  King  at  Stirling,  Malise  accom- 
panying him  as  far  as  Clyde  Water,  having  refused  to 
be  sooner  parted  from  his  master. 

And  after  ten  days  in  which  I  heard  nothing,  this  was 
the  tale  which  Laurence  had  come  to  tell. 

"  I  speak  in  the  proper  name  of  the  Lord  James,"  he 
said.  "  For,  being  little  better  than  a  monk,  I  am  counted 
a  safe  go-between  in  these  matters." 

Then,  dryly  enough,  as  is  common  at  such  times,  he 
told  his  tale. 

"  The  Earl  William  rode  to  Stirling  under  the  King's 
safe  conduct,"  so  he  began.     "  He  was  received  with  joy 

175 


176  MAY    MARGARET 

and  feasting.  After  dinner,  in  a  little  private  chamber 
apart  it  chanced  that  there  was  no  one  with  the  Lord 
William  save  the  King,  when  suddenly  James  Stewart 
drew  a  dagger,  and  having  still  one  hand  round  William 
Douglas's  shoulder  in  loving  fashion,  struck — struck  his 
friend  to  the  heart,  calling  on  his  hired  butchers  to  assist. 
Among  them  they  killed  him,  striking  long  after  he  was 
dead.  Sixty-seven  wounds  there  were  on  the  body  of 
our  dear  master  and  lord  !  " 

Then  there  seemed  to  rise  up  before  me  the  image, 
erect  and  noble,  of  the  husband  whom  I  had  lost.  The 
man  who  was  to  claim  me,  the  first  being  dead,  had  been 
long  away.     I  felt  his  power  only  in  presence. 

But  Will  was  dead — my  dear  cousin  Will.  I  thought 
of  him  as  no  other.  Never  would  life  be  the  same. 
Yet  somehow  I  was  noways  surprised.  It  seemed  now 
as  if  he  had  been  doomed  from  the  first.  Even  at  Cour 
Cheverney  and  Amboise  I  had  seen  the  line  of  death 
trench  his  brow.  He  had  said  it  of  himself.  He  was 
not  made  for  life  and  love  and  pleasure — it  bode  that  he 
should  die  young. 

But  to  die  by  the  hand  of  his  King,  his  friend.  It 
seemed  a  thing  marvellous,  save  that  I  knew  all  the 
Bruces  to  be  murderers,  and  all  the  Stewarts  traitors  to 
their  own  best  friends.  It  was  some  time  before  strength 
was  given  me  to  ask  how  it  happened. 

"  Little  is  known,"  said  Laurence,  "  and  that  only  from 
the  report  of  the  royal  spick-and-span  favourites  and 
bully  butchermen  of  the  palace.  But  as  the  story  goes, 
the  King  asked  the  Earl  William  (being  alone  with  him 
after  dinner)  to  break  his  treaty  with  my  Lord  of  Ross. 
Then  when  he  would  not,  showing  cause,  he  struck  at  him 
suddenly  with  his  dagger.  This  much  only  is  vouched 
for.  But  those  who  speak  are  all  the  very  hangman's 
company  and  there  is  no  truth  in  them.  Black  and  ever 
blacker  are  the  lies  they  tell !  " 

"  And  is  our  lord  the  Earl — my  cousin  William — surely 
dead?" 

"  Aye,  truly,"  Laurence  answered  softly.  "  The  Lord 
James  sent  me  to  tell  you !  " 


THE    FIRST    STROKE   OF    DOOM         177 

"  Had  he  no  message?  " 

"  None  save  that  after  vengeance  taken,  he  would  come 
himself  to  you !  " 

•  •  *  *  * 

"  And  now,"  continued  Laurence,  "  since  my  errand 
is  done,  permit  me  to  take  my  leave.  It  is  not  yet  the 
time  appointed.  But  one  day  there  may  befall  the  need 
of  a  refuge  for  you.  And  then — why,  the  door  of 
Sweetheart  will  open,  and  the  women  of  God,  with  their 
sweet  pale  faces,  be  ready  to  welcome  you  in ! " 

"  And  you,  Laurence?  " 

"  I  shall  not  see  you,"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
"  but  I  shall  know  you  are  there.  And  that  will  be  more 
to  me  than  the  New  Jerusalem  and  all  the  stones  of  its 
twelve  foundations !  " 

Then,  indeed,  there  were  threads  to  draw  together. 
Sholto  came  back  to  put  the  castle  in  its  final  state  of 
defence  in  case  of  need,  and  to  raise  the  folk  of  Galloway 
— also,  doubtless,  to  be  near  Maud  and  the  babes.  Nor 
did  I  blame  him  for  that. 

As  to  what  James  and  the  Douglas  brothers  did  in  and 
about  Stirling,  that  needs  a  page  to  itself.  And  through 
all  Scotland  ever  as  the  bruit  spread,  so  did  also  the 
horror!  The  murder  of  a  friend  by  a  friend — both 
young  men — the  royal  safe  conduct  stained  with  innocent 
blood — the  unarmed  guest  slain  by  the  hand  of  his  host 
and  despatched  by  his  myrmidons — never  was  such  a 
thing  heard  tell  of  in  Scotland,  or  indeed  scarce  in  the 
world. 

And  as  for  the  things  which  in  these  latter  days  the 
King's  chronicle-makers  assert  against  our  Lord  William 
— as  anent  the  death  of  the  Tutor  of  Bombie  and  the 
rest, — I  can  refute  all  these  in  a  word.  They  are  but 
Highland  lies,  sired  by  the  Stewarts  and  damed  by  their 
lick-spittle  clerks — nothing  more. 

The  Tutor  of  Bombie  (hear  the  truth!)  would  have 
taken  that  poor  heritage  and  crumbling  fortalice  on  the 
sea-edge  from  his  brother's  son,  its  rightful  heir,  a  lad 
of  ten.  William  Douglas,  being  the  feudal  lord  of  both, 
saw  that  right  was  done  and  wrong  put  under.     That  is 


178  MAY    MARGARET 

the  fact,  which  is  known  to  all  south  of  St.  Mary's  Loch, 
whose  mind  upon  the  matter  was  that  a  month  in  the 
cell  of  Archibald  the  Grim,  and  afterwards  a  stall  in  the 
abbey  of  Dulce  Cor,  were  all  too  good  for  a  despoiler 
of  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  like  the  well-served  Tutor 
of  Bombie. 

And  as  to  the  gallows  knob  of  Thrieve  never  wanting 
its  tassel  for  fifty  years,  did  ever  mortal  hear  or  speak 
such  arrant  lies? 

Were  not  the  Douglases  noble  gentlemen,  dukes  of 
the  realm  of  France,  as  well  as  the  greatest  lords  in 
Scotland?  Had  they  not  been  ambassadors  to  Paris,  to 
London,  to  Rome?  Would  they,  then,  think  you,  have 
come  home  to  set  so  much  carrion  swinging  under  their 
own  nostrils  and  those  of  their  ladies  in  their  mansion 
of  Thrieve? 

Assuredly  no!  The  Douglas  did  justice;  yea,  and 
verily.  But  it  was  at  the  gallows'  slot  of  the  Furbar  that 
the  scaffold  was  set  up  and  the  pit  digged.  Not  within 
sight  or  sound  of  Thrieve,  where  Will  Douglas  conserved 
me  like  a  rare  Provencal  rose.  Only  madmen  and  the 
King's  witlings  could  conceive  and  pen  such  manifest  lies. 
But  the  time  came,  and  that  soon,  when  to  speak  evil 
(or  to  invent  it  for  others  to  speak)  concerning  a  Douglas 
of  the  Black  was  the  surest  passport  to  the  King's  favour. 

But  these  things  assuredly  did  William  Douglas  neither 
ill  nor  good,  though-  in  after  time  they  have  caused  many, 
perhaps  unwittingly,  both  to  speak  and  to  write  the 
thing  that  was  not.  In  the  beginning,  however,  the  story 
was  set  a-going  by  evil-contriving  men,  anxious  to  buy 
that  unstable  and  unsatisfying  mess  of  pottage,  a  King's 
good  will,  with  falsehoods  and  jealousies. 

But  of  this,  no  more !  All  the  world,  which  knew  him, 
knows  the  man  William  Douglas  was — the  one  lion 
among  a  pack  of  mangy  and  verminous  curs. 

And  in  the  things  which  befell  at  this  time  also,  James 
Douglas  bore  himself  stoutly  and  like  the  head  of  his 
family — though  perhaps  with  some  little  of  the  levity 
which  continually  showed  itself  on  grave  occasions. 

Instead   of   gathering   the    forces   of   the   Douglas,    as 


THE   FIRST    STROKE   OF   DOOM         179 

Sholto  had  done  on  a  former  day  of  trouble,  and  march- 
ing directly  upon  the  traitor-King  and  his  councillors,  he 
must  needs,  with  his  younger  brothers,  spend  time  in 
taking  the  town  of  Stirling  by  escalade — whence,  how- 
ever, the  King  of  the  Bloody  Hand  had  fled  to  shelter 
himself  more  safely  in  the  castle  of  Edinburgh.  Once 
established  in  Stirling  James  Douglas  extricated  the 
hangman's  garron,  the  worst  and  most  unseemly  piece 
of  living  horse-flesh  in  the  town-royal  out  of  its  tumble- 
down hovel,  and  tying  the  King's  safe-conduct  to  its  tail, 
dragged  the  seals  and  the  royal  signature  of  the  Stewart 
through  the  mud  of  the  streets,  to  be  trodden  on  and 
bemired  of  men  and  beasts. 

And  ever  as  they  marched,  James  called  aloud,  "  Bur- 
gesses and  lieges  of  Stirling,  behold  the  sworn  promise 
of  your  King!  Who  will  come  forth  and  defend  it?  It 
is  the  word  of  a  liar — the  word  of  a  traitor,  the  word  of 
a  murderer !  I,  James  Douglas,  proclaim  it  so,  and  give 
the  lie  and  defiance  to  every  man  among  you !  " 

But  instead  the  wise  burghers  either  stayed  indoors, 
seeing  as  many  fierce  and  well-armed  Douglases  in  and 
about  their  town  as  there  were  stones  in  the  causeway. 
Or  some  (the  wilder  rabble  of  them)  came  forth,  hoot- 
ing and  voiding  of  gardyloo  vessels  upon  the  promise  of 
their  forsworn  King,  written,  signed  and  sealed  by  his 
own  hand.     Such  shame  was  never  seen  in  a  royal  city ! 

Yet  nevertheless  it  came  to  pass  that  the  weeks  went 
by,  and,  though  there  was  great  indignation  and  many 
thousands  of  true  Douglases  asked  no  better  than  to  be 
led  to  battle  against  the  traitorous  Stewart  and  his  low- 
bom  crew  of  Crichtons  and  Livingstons,  there  was  none 
to  be  a  head  to  them.  The  lads  Archibald  and  Hugh 
and  the  Little  John  were  sent  to  their  Earldoms  and  de- 
pendencies in  the  north,  thus  dividing  the  name  and  clan, 
at  a  time  when  every  Douglas  should  have  been  clam- 
bering up  the  feeble  defences  of  Edinburgh  town,  and 
breaking  down  that  castle  wa',  wherein  so  mickle  ill  had 
been  contrived  and  wrought  upon  the  Douglases  of  the 
Black. 

William,  had  he  been  alive,  would  have  had  the  top- 


i8o  MAY    MARGARET 

most  tower  of  the  foul  nest  about  their  ears  in  a  week. 
Indeed,  not  so  long  before,  he  had  taken  the  castle  with 
the  Crichton  in  it.  But  James,  though  as  to  his  courage 
personal  no  man  could  doubt  (for,  indeed,  he  was  ever 
ready  and  eager  to  prove  it  at  all  times  upon  any  that 
would  cross  weapons  with  him),  had  yet  a  calculating 
and  selfish  province  within  his  heart,  though  well  hidden 
and  undreamed  of  even  by  me  at  that  time. 

Nay,  so  much  so  that,  mewed  up  in  Thrieve,  I  longed 
for  him  to  come  and  give  me  liberty.  I  had  been  a  cage- 
bird  so  long — yes,  let  the  cage  be  as  sweetly  gilded  as 
Thrieve,  and  though  I  had  with  me  Maud  and  the  chil- 
dren, yet  being  born  to  sway  the  hearts  of  men,  I  longed 
to  take  again  my  power  to  me.  I  had  proven  my  weap- 
ons at  Cour  Cheverney.  I  had  walked  unashamed  at  Am- 
boise,  by  the  side  of  the  Dame  de  Beaute  herself.  Yet 
here,  at  Thrieve,  somehow,  with  Maud  and  Sholto,  and 
with  the  sight  of  their  happiness  ever  before  my  eyes, 
there  grew  up  within  me  a  need.  At  first  it  was  no  more 
than  an  ache,  vague,  dull,  and  seldom-coming.  Then  as 
time  went  on,  it  grew  more  frequent  and  more  acute. 
There  was  sometime  in  my  heart  of  hearts  an  anger  and 
almost  malice  against  these  wedded  lovers.  I  grew  to 
hate  the  little  bairns  that  played  upon  the  green  (so 
wicked  I  was!) — because  they  were  not  mine.  For 
though  I  pulled  flowers  and  wove  rush-baskets  for  them 
all  day  long,  they  would  run  like  hares  at  the  first  clatter 
of  their  father's  armour,  or  the  faintest  flutter  of  Maud's 
sun-bonnet  coming  towards  us  through  the  trees  of  the 
wood. 

I  wanted — well,  something  I  wanted.  I  knew  not  what. 
Perhaps  to  be  all  that  to  someone — to  have  no  rival 
near  my  throne,  not  even  a  young  child.  To  know  the 
love  of  men  as  it  is  when  man  loves  once  and  for  all — 
to  hear  (after  a  time)  the  sweet  noise  of  children's  voices 
far-ofif,  cool  and  pleasant  in  the  summer  silences  as  the 
sound  of  waters  falling,  to  hear  and  to  know  them  mine 
also — not  Maud's  or  Sholto's,  but  mine.  God  has  put 
these  desires  deep  in  the  heart  of  a  woman,  and  in  com- 
parison with  such  things,  princessdoms  and  dignities  and 


THE   FIRST    STROKE   OF   DOOM         i8i 

successes  and  triumphings  and  the  queening  of  it  as 
Damosels  of  Beauty  and  Chiefest  among  the  Fair — all  are 
as  nothing.  That  is,  for  a  woman  who  is  a  woman. 
She  may  learn  it  late,  or  she  may  learn  it  never.  But  if, 
unhappily,  the  last — then  there  is  an  ache  and  a  pain. 
Something  unassuaged,  abiding  hungry  and  unsatisfied 
in  her  heart,  which  she  will  carry  to  her  grave. 

Was  that  to  be  my  fate?  I  feared  it.  I  believed  it. 
William  Douglas  was  dead.  Sincerely  I  mourned  him. 
A  friend  of  the  graver  sort  he  had  been  to  me — a  coun- 
cillor, faithful,  just,  fearless,  truth-speaking  even  at  the 
cost  of  pain,  my  cousin,  a  staff  of  staunchness  upon  my 
way  of  life — as  all  these  I  mourned  him,  but  not  as  my 
husband.  A  husband — I  never  had  a  husband.  I  never 
would  have  one. 

The  ache  redoubled,  grew  more  eager,  mordant,  angry 
against  all  the  world.  I  was  scarce  to  be  spoken  to.  And 
Maud,  dear,  sweet  soul,  left  me  to  myself,  dreaming  that 
it  was  because  of  the  death  of  my  husband  and  perchance 
some  remorse  that  I  had  loved  him  so  little.  The  truth 
was,  I  was  wearied  out.  I  could  not  be  sorry  any  more. 
I  longed  for  change — anything  to  take  me  out  of  myself. 

It  was  his  hour,  and  prompt  at  the  hour  which  was 
his,  James  Douglas  rode  in  through  the  gate  of  Thrieve. 


CHAPTER     XXIV 

HIS   HOUR 

A  GIRL  confined  for  years  in  a  great  house,  eager  of 
heart,  rebellious  against  binding  and  prisoning  Fate,  see- 
ing all  about  her  the  sort  of  happiness  her  heart  craved — 
Sholto  and  his  wife  with  their  hourly  looks,  facile  to  be 
interpreted,  their  faith  in  each  other,  their  love  and  con- 
tent, together  with  the  wealth  of  children  who  should 
one  day  speak  with  the  enemy  in  the  gate !  And  then  on 
the  other  side  Margaret  Douglas,  the  lady  of  all — widow 
and  no  wife,  a  maid  with  a  woman's  name — none  save 
Maud  to  direct  her,  and  she  oftentimes  too  proud  and 
too  jealous  of  her  happiness  to  be  directed — surely  James 
Douglas  came  in  the  dead  ripeness  of  the  time. 

William  would  have  ridden  alone,  coming  in  unexpect- 
edly with  white  froth  on  his  bridle  reins  at  the  close  of 
a  long  day.  But  James,  according  to  his  nature,  must 
needs  gather  his  knights,  lie  all  night  at  Kenmore-on- 
Deuch,  and  make  a  short  journey  to  Thrieve  that  he 
might  enter  it  for  the  first  time  as  Earl  of  Douglas  with 
curvetting  chargers  and  the  gay  flap  of  pennons. 

He  took  me  in  that  first  moment  (strange  as  death's 
first  certainty  it  seems  now!).  I  rejoiced,  as  one  might 
say,  helplessly  that  there  had  come  this  new  thing  into 
my  life,  this  hope  which  made  to  thrill  and  palpitate  all 
my  heart  within  me.  No  longer  was  I  to  be  a  state 
prisoner,  with  the  Isle  of  Thrieve  for  my  prison,  shut  in 
by  the  drumly  Dee  and  hidden  by  the  green  far-off 
Cairnsmore  and  the  purple  hills  of  Balmaghie — the  Dor- 
nal,  Lochenbreck,  Barstobrick,  and  the  rest.  Pah,  how 
I  had  grown  to  hate  them ! 

So  I  ran  down  to  meet  him,  forgetting  (alas,  that  it 
should  be  so!)  even  my  mourning  for  the  man  who  was 
dead.     James  had  just  leaped  down  from  his  beast,  turn- 

182 


HIS    HOUR  183 

ing  the  next  moment  to  cry  a  jolly  word  of  cheer  to  his 
men  to  fill  themselves  with  good  Mistress  Sholto's  best 
cakes  and  ales.  Then  quite  suddenly  he  caught  sight 
of  me. 

I  was  standing,  somewhat  affrayed,  on  the  upper  steps 
of  the  great  entrance.  I  think  too  I  shrank  a  little  back 
into  the  gloom  of  the  arch — for  I  had  been  so  long  alone 
and  felt  it  strange  to  be  in  presence  of  so  many  men. 

I  shall  never  forget  what  James  Douglas  did,  thus 
seeing  me  stand  uncertain.  He  dropped  bridle  rein  on 
the  instant — cast  his  loosened  helmet  on  the  ground  to 
be  picked  up  by  any  that  wished — and  with  one  bound 
had  me  in  his  arms.  He  held  me  as  if  I  had  been  the 
little  girl  he  had  gone  to  the  Pays  du  Retz  to  save,  lifting 
me  clear  off  the  ground,  light  as  a  feather,  and  before 
them  all  kissing  me  cheek  and  chin.  No  wonder  he 
fairly  dazed  my  heart  within  me. 

Yet  when  he  had  set  me  down,  I  drew  away  from  him, 
saying  in  reproach,  "  James,  that  is  but  ill  done  of  you — 
so  soon ! " 

But  James  Douglas  would  none  of  my  niceties  as  to 
times  and  seasons. 

"  God !  "  he  cried,  "  do  you  think  I  have  waited  ten 
years  for  only  that? — Another!" 

And  this  time  he  kissed  me  almost  fiercely  and  with 
greed.  This  was  indeed  a  man  of  another  sort  from 
William,  my  cousin.  But  then — women  are  very  ready 
to  forgive  this  manner  of  love-making.  Or,  at  least  I 
was,  and  so  without  a  word  passed  or  an  apology  to  his 
men  we  went  in  together. 

I  thought  to  find  Maud  above,  but  on  some  pretext  of 
housewifery,  and  the  coming  of  so  many  men  to  Thrieve, 
she  had  made  shift  to  absent  herself.  The  great  hall 
was  empty,  and  as  soon  as  the  arras  fell  over  the  door, 
and  we  were  alone,  James  caught  me  to  him  again. 

''At  last  I"  he  cried  with  a  kind  of  sob.  And  I  sub- 
mitted to  his  embrace  with  the  same  dizzy  yet  triumphant 
happiness  as  in  the  Lady's  Bower.  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  thought  at  all  of  William  or  of  Laurence,  or  in- 
deed of  aught,  save  that  I  wished  James  Douglas  to  go 


1 84  MAY   MARGARET 

on  holding  me  in  his  arms.  They  were  so  strong  and 
firm.     Also,  I  did  not  wish  to  be  left  alone  any  more. 

Thus  it  was  that  James  Douglas  came  home  for  the 
first  time  as  Earl  of  Douglas  to  his  own  Castle  of  Thrieve. 
Or  rather  to  my  castle,  for,  with  William's  death,  the 
princessdom  of  Galloway  had  returned  to  me,  with  all  its 
dangers  and  all  its  powers. 

Then  again  I  was  to  experience  the  difference  be- 
tween my  cousins.  In  such  a  case  Will  would  have 
wearied  me  with  talk  of  duties  and  responsibilities, 
"  dieving  "  me  concerning  the  great  part  I  was  called 
on  to  play  in  the  world. 

But  James  said  only,  over  and  over  again,  "  I  love 
you,  Margaret.  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,  and — sore 
against  my  will — I  have  waited  these  years  for  you.  I 
will  wait  no  longer." 

"  But  how  can  we  be  married?  "  I  asked,  holding  him, 
as  it  were,  for  form's  sake,  sometime  at  arm's  length.  It 
was  only  for  a  moment,  and  so  did  not  alter  things 
greatly.  "  We  are  cousins,  and  besides,  I  have  been  your 
brother's  wife.     It  is  forbidden  by  the  church !  " 

He  laughed  one  of  his  own  laughs,  great  and  bois- 
terous. Then  (a  trick  of  his)  he  lifted  me  up  by  the 
elbows,  easily  as  a  child's  puppet,  bending  to  kiss  me  at 
the  same  time. 

"  You  have  been  my  Lady  of  Douglas,  have  you  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  Well,  if  you  think  so,  I  will  show  you  other 
of  it,  little  one,  and  that  quickly.  We  shall  be  married, 
never  fear — good  and  sound — aye,  and  have  benefit  of 
clergy,  too,  archbishops,  and  suchlike  cattle.  Why,  there 
has  gone  already  to  Rome  a  messenger  to  crave  a  second 
dispensation  from  his  Popeship,  and  the  King  himself 
hath  signed  the  request,  praying  that  you  and  I  should 
graciously  be  permitted  to  wed !  " 

"  But,"  I  cried,  thrusting  James  away,  "  is  he  not  a 
murderer,  this  king,  the  slayer  of  your  brother?  Will 
you  have  aught  to  say  to  him,  save  at  the  spear's  point, 
surely  never?  " 

And  James  Douglas  laughed  again,  so  that  the  fine 
glass  on  the  corner  armoire  rattled. 


HIS   HOUR  185 

"Ah,  little  Margaret,"  he  said,  "for  your  sake  I  will 
e'en  use  James  Stewart  whilst  I  have  need  of  him,  and  no 
longer.  He  is,  at  any  rate,  nothing  more  than  a  puppet 
that  is  worked  with  strings,  and  if  he  will  help  me  to 
wed  with  you,  shall  I  not  pull  the  cord?  Aye,  till  it 
breaks !  " 

Then  I  went  on  to  speak  sharply  to  him,  still  in  remon- 
strance. "  Your  brother  is  dead,"  so  I  told  him,  "  slain  by 
the  hand  of  the  Stewart.  I  am  but  a  girl,  but  I  am  a  right 
Douglas.  And  rather  than  ask  the  hand  and  seal  of  one 
so  murderous  and  man-sworn,  I  would !  " 

"What  would  you  do,  little  spitfire?"  he  said,  holding 
me  and  smiling  in  plain  masculine  admiration,  very  dis- 
concerting. 

"I  would  be  drowned  in  the  castle  moat!"  I  cried 
fiercely.  "  And  hear  you  this,  James  of  Douglas,  I  think 
but  little  of  the  man  who  takes  his  brother's  death  so  little 
to  heart,  and  who,  instead  of  rousing  the  Marches  and 
putting  the  traitor's  head  on  the  traitors'  chopping-block, 
comes  hither — to !  " 

"  Well,  little  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  what  is  it  I  come  to 
Thrieve  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  make  love  to  your  brother's  widozv,  instead  of 
avenging  his  death!"  I  meant  the  words  to  be  bitterly 
winged,  but  there  was  something  about  James  Douglas 
that  took  the  bite  out  of  the  bitterest  saying — a  certain 
blufif,  careless  heartiness,  which,  I  fear  it,  often  veiled 
a  very  real  heartlessness. 

"  Nay,"  he  answered  me,  not  in  the  least  put  out,  "  it 
was  so  convened  betwixt  us.  Will  and  me,  that  day  down 
in  the  meadow  yonder.  And  I  have  held  to  it,  and,  God 
knows,  never  seen  you  since !  " 

"And  WilHam?"  I  said,  "is  it  that  you  think  he  has 
suffered  nothing?" 

James  waved  his  hand,  carelessly  as  ever. 

"  Contrariwise,  much  and  nobly,"  he  said,  more  so- 
berly. "  Fear  not,  I  will  avenge  him.  Or  I  and  all  my 
house  shall  die  the  death!  But  first  of  all  I  am  bound 
to  you.  To  Will  my  brother,  the  House  was  all — you 
nothing.     Ye  have  to  deal  with  another  man  this  day, 


i86  MAY   MARGARET 

Maid  Margaret.  You  are  first  with  me,  who  love  you 
and  shall  wed  you.  Then  by  our  twain  loves  made  one, 
we  will  send  the  Douglas  name  across  the  world.  These 
things  are  my  whole  soul  and  body.  Plots,  plans,  domi- 
nations, pacts,  my  Lord  of  this,  and  his  Majesty  of  that, 
bulk  no  more  than  my  little  finger  when  laid  in  the  balance 
against  the  dearest  woman  in  the  world  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  love." 

This  was  good  talk  for  a  girl  to  hear  who  had  been 
so  long  alone,  and  so  greatly  athirst  for  love. 

And  indeed,  I  deny  it  not — I  asked  no  better  than  to 
believe  him ! 

So  for  certain  enchanted  weeks,  as  it  might  be  written, 
James  Douglas  abode  at  Thrieve,  expecting  with  im- 
patience the  return  of  the  ambassador  from  Rome.  So 
that  to  me,  more  and  more  every  morning,  the  life  of 
William  Douglas  seemed  as  something  which  had  never 
been — the  ruffle  of  summer  airs  which  grip  for  a  moment 
the  blue  waters  of  Dee  when  the  wind  blows  blithely 
from  the  north,  as  the  flecked  cloudlets  of  sunrise  that 
melt  into  the  wide  blue  of  the  highest  heavens  and  are 
seen  no  more. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

JAMES  DOUGLAS,  BENEDICT 

And  truly  the  matter  came  about  even  as  James  Douglas 
had  said.  The  Pope  granted  the  dispensation  for  us  to 
be  married,  backed  as  the  request  was  by  the  name  of  the 
King  of  Scots.  It  was  nothing  to  James  that  the  hand 
which  signed  had  been  dipped  in  the  blood  of  my  first 
husband.  As  to  the  Pope  in  Holy  Rome,  it  came  before 
him  with  fifty  others,  doubtless,  and  was  swiftly  dis- 
missed. 

So  we  were  married,  James  and  I.  And  for  a  long 
month  the  hills  of  Balmaghie  took  on  for  me  a  more 
purple  tinge,  while  above  them  the  sun  set  in  a  paradise 
of  gold. 

I  envied  Maud  and  Sholto  no  more.  Indeed,  with  a 
selfishness  I  marvelled  at  afterwards,  I  saw  them  but 
little,  and  the  children  not  at  all.  For  upon  James 
Douglas's  arrival  they  had  been  sent  to  their  grand- 
father's cottage  above  the  blue  island-studded  floor  of 
Carlinwark,  in  which  on  clear  still  days  the  Three  Thorns 
were  mirrored. 

For  somehow,  if  Maud  had  been  unfair  to  William 
Douglas,  she  grew  tenfold  more  so  to  James.  And  that 
was  a  thing  unusual  in  women — who,  even  when  injured 
by  him,  were  quick  to  forgive  a  man  so  heartsome  and 
of  a  nature  so  large  and  bounteous.  Perhaps — it  comes 
to  me  now  as  a  thing  possible — she  was  jealous,  having 
had  my  love  so  long  to  herself. 

Yet,  looking  back  after  many  years,  I  cannot  deny 
that  in  these  days  James  Douglas  made  me  happy.  It 
was  not  to  be  for  long.  It  was  not  perhaps  the  highest 
happiness.  But — at  least  it  was  the  happiness  I  had 
ached  for. 

Nevertheless  there  was  trouble  in  the  air,  brooding  all 

187 


i88  MAY    MARGARET 

about  us.  Thunder  muttered  far  behind  the  hills.  Sheet 
lightning  pulsed  along  the  horizon  as  silently  as  a  thought 
crossing  the  mind  of  God,  and  at  night  the  aurora,  with 
fingers  green  and  red,  weirdly  grappled  the  zenith. 

Aleantime,  we  loved  each  other — James  and  I — or 
rather  not  so.  For  as  for  me  I  was  in  love  with  Love 
himself,  a  lusty  young  god  I  had  sighed  for  long.  And 
James  Douglas — he,  I  judge,  loved  me  as  well  as  I  de- 
served. But,  as  throughout  all  his  life,  he  kept  most  of 
his  affection  for  his  own  great,  handsome,  seldom- 
serious,  often  boisterous  self. 

Usually  there  is  something  of  wistful  sadness  in  the 
disenchantment  which  comes  to  a  dreamy  and  sensitive 
woman,  her  girlhood  nourished  on  romance  and  childish 
dreams,  when  marriage  rudely  tears  aside  the  veil,  and 
instead  of  Cupid  is  revealed  that  godship  aforetime  dis- 
creetly draped  in  the  gardens  of  the  ancients. 

But  so  it  was  not  with  me.  I  had  that  which  I  desired. 
If  it  were  true  (as  men  said  and  women  were  not  slow 
to  whisper)  that  James  Douglas  could  not  long  be  true  to 
any  woman,  the  sense  being  a-wanting  in  him — at  least 
he  right  royally  entreated  them  and  betrayed  them  most 
delicately.  No  girl  could  wish  a  better  lover — no  woman 
a  more  considerate  husband.  And  at  that  time  I  thought 
of  nothing  save  that  he  had  given  me  back  life  after  long 
years  of  death — life  and  love  and  observance.  Nothing 
seemed  a-wanting  in  the  man  I  had  chosen. 

Nor  did  we  stay  long  at  Thrieve — at  least  not  at  a 
time.  As  my  mood  now  was,  I  sighed  for  change.  So 
with  a  retinue  almost  more  than  kingly  we  two  rode  forth 
— northward  up  the  long  valley  past  Grenoch  and  Ken 
Water  to  Casphairn  and  Douglas.  But  Douglas  Castle, 
so  I  thought,  could  never  be  to  me  what  Thrieve  had 
been.  Yet  I  loved  that  ancient  tower  also,  as  the  Mother- 
hold  and  bees'  byke  whence  the  Douglases  had  buzzed 
forth  over  the  land — to  the  north,  the  east  and  the  west, 
but  mainly  be  it  said,  towards  the  south  and  my  own 
Galloway  to  which  I  kissed  my  hand  every  morning  and 
evening — aye,  though  my  heart  had  been  wae  enough  to 
bide  there  by  myself. 


JAMES   DOUGLAS,    BENEDICT  189 

Yet  now  when  I  come  to  think  it  over  I  judge  that  it 
was  not  my  love  for  James  which  made  me  so  changed 
a  woman,  but  chiefly  my  hatred  of  loneHness.  Also  (it 
may  be)  some  little  resentment  against  Laurence  McKim 
that  he  would  not  come  and  bide  with  me  at  Thrieve. 
For  I  had  loved  to  talk  with  Larry,  and  it  did  me  good — 
wicked  one  that  I  was — to  think  of  his  pique  and  bitter- 
ness, his  fierce,  far-wandering  days  and  sleepless  nights 
about  the  woods  of  Sweetheart,  when  he  knew  me  of  a 
reality  wedded  to  James  Douglas,  and  that  he  would 
never  carve  out  puppets  nor  set  mill-wheels  birling  for 
me  again  till  the  world's  end. 

Yes,  it  was  wicked,  that  I  know.  But,  all  the  same, 
it  did  me  good  to  think  of  Laurence's  discomfiture.  So 
much  so  that  once  or  twice  I  knew  not  whether  to  laugh 
or  to  cry — it  was  so  good  to  think  of,  and  I  returned  upon 
the  subject  so  often. 

Well,  to  Douglas-dale  we  went,  and  to  Straven,  where 
James  had  been  born,  in  the  little  round  tower  that  over- 
looks the  curve  of  the  Avon  Water.  And  I  could  have 
wished  to  have  gone  on  further  to  the  north — into  the 
Highlands  of  the  East  and  the  country  of  Murray  and 
Ross,  which  were  still  Douglas  to  the  core.  But  always 
James  would  not  permit,  saying  (truly  enough)  that  it 
was  very  well  for  Archie  and  Hugh  to  peril  their  lives 
by  passing  through  Angus  country,  but  that  for  fair 
plump  pullets  like  me — it  was  better  that  they  should 
bide  near  home,  where  they  could  fly  up  to  well-kenned 
*'  baulks  "  when  Reynard  was  prowling  round. 

For  that  was  ever  his  manner  of  talk,  and  with  such  a 
wealth  of  love-making  expressions,  as  "  For  God's  sake, 
little  lass,  ar't  not  content  in  the  nest  that  thy  puir 
Jamie's  love  makes  for  thee  ?  "  Or  there  were  certain 
ways  of  gentle  and  tender  petting  of  women  that  he  had, 
touching  a  ringlet  here  and  pouting  up  a  chin  there, 
holding  his  head  meantime  masterfully  to  the  side,  and 
all  with  such  a  great  big-framed  kindliness  and  lovesome- 
ness  shining  out  of  the  eyes  of  him,  that,  by  St.  Mary, 
I  wonder  there  was  ever  woman  born  of  woman  that 
could  resist  him ! 


I90  MAY    MARGARET 

And  he  had  a  philosophy  of  the  thing  too,  which  he 
would  dehver  betwixt  a  kiss  and  a  pat,  being  ever  a 
great  one  for  the  externaHties  of  love — the  which  indeed 
it  is  foolish  and  vain  of  any  woman  to  despise,  at  least, 
in  kindness  to  herself. 

"  Sparrows,"  he  would  cry  out,  laughing,  "  will  not  let 
themselves  be  caught  unless  you  bob  them  on  the  tails !  " 

"  Go,  throw  salt  on  them !  "  I  corrected ;  "  that  is  the 
way  the  saw  runs  in  Galloway !  "  And  at  this  he  would 
let  out  of  him  a  great  ran-ta-ra  of  laughter,  patting  me 
on  the  cheek  meantime. 

"  Sparrows  wag  their  tails  in  the  same  fashion  all  the 
world  over ! "  he  w^ould  say.  "  It  is  the  only  true 
Vulgate !  " 

But  what  he  meant  I  do  not  know.  I  give  it  only  as 
his  manner  of  talk.  Yet  these  were  none  such  ill  days 
(I  deny  it  not),  when  James  Douglas  for  a  little  time 
was  all  the  world  to  me — yea,  even  that  new  world 
the  Spanish  folk  begin  to  prate  so  greatly  of  in  these  last 
years. 

But  even  then  I  knew,  somehow,  that  it  could  not  last. 
James  had  gotten  far  ben  with  the  King,  as  it  seemed, 
whom  he  hoped  to  use  for  his  own  purposes.  But  there 
were  cleverer  heads  about  the  council-board  of  James 
Stewart  than  that  hard  nut  of  James  Douglas's.  Crichton 
had  the  brains  of  a  dozen  such,  and  sat  silently  drinking 
water  while  James,  his  eyes  stelled  in  his  head,  gulped 
down  the  clary-wine  with  a  "Lusty,  lively,  fra-Ia-la!" 

My  poor  James,  he  never,  I  think,  meant  any  greaj: 
wrong.  But  he  was  made  rudely  and,  finding  within  him- 
self a  particular  power,  he  carried  himself  like  a  free  man 
at  his  trade,  which  was  to  be  hail-fellow,  stand-to-it  with 
all  the  world,  but  especially  with  all  the  women  thereof. 

Now  there,  on  the  other  hand,  was  Angus,  our  cousin, 
the  head  of  the  easterly  House,  called  the  Red  Douglas. 
He  desired  to  be  great  with  the  King,  but  being  a  spirit- 
less, unplucked  clown,  dared  not  do  aught  against  his 
name  and  kin  so  long  as  cousin  Will  lived.  And  even 
now,  if  James  had  flown  at  his  throat  in  the  market- 
place of  Edinburgh,  or  even  flashed  a  bright  broadsword 


JAMES    DOUGLAS,    BENEDICT  191 

before  his  eyes,  that  had  been  the  end  of  the  treachery 
of  my  Lord  of  Angus.  For  he  was  of  the  sort  of  folk 
who  were  frighted  with  the  mere  waft  of  James  Douglas's 
coat-tails,  or  intimidated  with  his  high,  big,  sturdy  voice, 
and  the  burly,  touch-me-who-dare  swagger  of  his  car- 
riage. 

But  James  would  take  no  trouble  about  anything. 

"  Why  should  I  cause  my  Lord  of  Angus  go  change 
his  body  linen?  "  he  would  cry,  in  his  broad  jesting  way. 
"  Give  him  instead  a  bairn's  go-cart  and,  in  hours  of  ease, 
a  pottle-pot  of  whey-and-water  to  suck  at.  These  will 
fit  better  than  crossing  swords  with  me !  " 

But  all  the  while  James  was  idle,  the  enemies  of  the 
Douglas  were  hard  at  it  making  their  plans  and  plotting 
their  conjurations — the  new  Earl  meantime  riding  the 
country  with  a  gay  retinue  of  knights  and  gentlemen. 
Oftentimes  would  I  speak  to  him  about  the  matter,  but 
he  had  ever  some  new  turn  of  speech  to  take  me  off. 

"  They  are  but  poor  barren  scoundrels,"  he  would 
say.  "  Am  I  not  Earl  to-day  ?  And  even  when  I  was 
only  poor  Jamie,  the  Master  of  Douglas,  could  I  not  un- 
dertake to  thraw  the  necks  of  any  score  of  them  ?  Will 
did  not  take  the  right  way  with  such-like.  He  was 
always  for  making  himself  greater  than  they  in  the  State 
— Lieutenant-General,  Regent,  what  not?  Now  for  me, 
I  have  my  castles,  my  lands,  my  wife.  I  meddle  with 
none — and  you  will  see  to  it,  fearful  little  one,  that  none 
shall  meddle  with  James  Douglas,  so  long  as  he  can  cock 
his  bonnet  and  hold  a  good  lance  in  rest !  " 

And  as  he  said  this  he  looked  so  gallant,  so  full  of  the 
juice  and  sap  of  life,  so  flourishing,  so  succulent,  in  the 
flower  of  his  age  and  the  pith  of  his  manhood,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  could  not  fail  in  anything.  It  was  the 
opposite  with  Will,  who  never  seemed  as  if  he  could  do 
anything  great,  being  simple  in  dress  and  appearance — 
nothing  indeed  remarkable  about  him  anywhere  save  the 
eyes  burning  dark  under  the  thick-thatched  pent  of  his 
brows. 

And,  indeed,  in  a  way  it  was  true.  None  would  have 
stirred  James  Douglas,  Sunday  or  weekday,  tilt  or  tour- 


192  MAY    MARGARET 

ney,  at  mass,  or  vespers  or  at  sermon,  had  it  not  been 
for  James  Douglas's  own  folly,  which  in  the  end  wrought 
his  destruction. 

But  so  it  was  written,  and  his  Fate  who  shall  escape ! 
Certainly  not  James  Douglas,  for  he  rushed  upon  it  as  a 
hill  torrent  seeks  the  sea. 

Now  I  have  said  already  that  after  James  came  to  the 
Thrieve  I  saw  but  little  of  Maud  Lindsay,  and  when  I  did, 
it  seemed  that  she  looked  at  me  with  clouded  eye  and  an 
averted  face. 

Yet  I  could  not  tell  why,  unless  it  was  for  some  reason 
which  concerned  the  sorrow  and  pain  of  Laurence 
McKim,  her  husband's  brother.  But  it  was  not — being 
something  deeper  and  less  easy  to  be  spoken  about,  at 
least  at  the  time. 

Now  James  did  never  choose  to  be  long  away  from 
Thrieve.  And  this,  he  said,  was  for  my  sake — because  it 
was  my  castle,  and  I  loved  it  so  much ;  he,  too,  loved 
everything  about  it.  The  which  complacency  I  found 
very  good  and  thoughful  of  him.  Indeed  he  was,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  ever  most  considerate  to  me  and  to  every- 
one within  the  walls  of  Thrieve,  and  in  all  the  lands 
about.  So  that  everyone,  gentle  and  simple,  loved  him — 
all,  that  is,  except  Maud  Lindsay. 

Then  as  a  time  came  when  I  could  no  longer  ride  with 
him,  being  feeble  and  inclined  to  rest  long  on  the  couch 
of  my  boudoir,  reading,  or  listening  to  Maud's  quiet 
murmur  of  talk — James,  a  great,  healthsome,  hearty  man, 
naturally  enough  took  to  hunting,  sometimes  in  company 
but  oftener  alone.  For  when  he  chased  the  deer  with 
hounds,  he  was  so  splendidly  mounted  and  conned  the 
country  so  well  that  it  was  easy  for  him  to  leave  his 
attendants  behind.  Also,  knowing  that  their  master 
loved  to  vaunt  himself  of  this  afterwards  to  me  and  to 
others  (such  being  his  nature),  these  huntsmen  and 
attendants  would  let  themselves  be  outstripped,  yet  not 
easily,  whipping  and  spurring  like  men  that  did  their 
best,  yet  losing  the  foremost  rider  at  every  stride. 

And  about  the  full  tide  of  evening  James  would  enter, 
covered   with   the   green    splashed   ooze   of   the   marish 


JAMES    DOUGLAS,    BENEDICT  193 

places,  his  horse  bemired  to  the  stirrups  in  the  peat  bogs, 
and  with  such  tales  of  hairbreadth  'scapes  to  tell  that 
till  bedtime  was  all  too  short  to  hear  them.  That  little 
vixen  Maud  would  rise  at  the  entrance  of  the  hunter  to 
leave  us  two  alone.  And  then  James  would  tell  his 
tales,  and  drink  and  yawn  till,  if  I  had  not  called  to  him, 
he  would  have  fallen  asleep  in  his  chair  where  he  sat, 
still  nodding  and  recounting. 

All  which  was  natural  enough  in  a  man  who  had  been 
all  day  among  the  hills  riding  as  only  James  Douglas 
could  ride.  But  though  this  was  my  own  thought,  who 
had  most  to  do  with  the  matter,  I  could  see  well  that 
Sholto  loved  not  such  ways.  He  firmed  his  mouth,  and  set 
himself  more  tightly  to  drilling  his  men,  exercising  them 
at  archery  and  pike  practice.  Or  he  gat  great  droves 
of  beasts  from  the  hills  of  Kells  and  Minnigafif,  both 
sheep  and  grosser  bestial,  and  brought  them  home  to 
Thrieve ;  then  he  set  to  smoking  and  salting  them,  as  if 
he  had  been  providing  for  a  siege. 

Every  morning  James  Douglas  would  call  to  him  to 
come  a-hunting  on  the  braes  of  Balmaghie,  as  he  passed 
out  with  the  joyous  baying  of  hounds  and  the  blown 
breath  of  horns.  But  Sholto  would  ever  excuse  himself, 
and  let  the  gay  train  pass  him  by,  their  noise  returning 
from  far  over  the  still  and  sleeping  waters,  till  it  was 
dulled  and  shut  ofif  by  the  heathery  knowes  and  banks 
of  green  bracken  that  circled  the  isle. 

And  as  for  me,  loving  James  as  I  did,  and  believing  in 
him,  I  would  lie  dreaming  of  him,  wondering  where  he 
was,  and  smiling  as  I  thought  how  assuredly  he  was 
outstripping  all  his  companions,  and  bringing  down  a 
monarch  of  the  hill,  some  stag  of  ten  or  twelve. 

Yet  I  might  have  known.  It  was  no  mighty  buck  that 
James  departed  in  pursuit  of,  kissing  his  hand  to  me  from 
the  top  of  the  Hiding  Hill,  but  the  tenderest  doe  of  all 
the  covert ;  no  wild  boar  stirr^  1  from  his  lair  in  the  Dee 
marshes,  turning  with  red  eyes  and  gleaming  tushes  to 
do  battle  for  his  life;  rather  he  sought  to  take  a  poor 
man's  one  ewe  lamb,  which  parted  his  meal  with  him,  and 
in  the  night  season  lay  in  his  bosom. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


THE    ONE    EWE     LAMB 


It  was  early  borne  in  upon  me  that  James  Douglas  would 
not  long  make  any  woman  happy — no,  nor  yet  any  people 
over  whom  he  might  bear  rule.  He  was  that  most  insid- 
ious of  self-deceivers,  the  ill-doer  who  never  means  ill  to 
any. 

I  remember  yet  the  day  when  the  knowledge  first  came 
upon  me.  A  great,  high  gallant  day  it  was  in  early  sum- 
mer, the  white  clouds  slow-sailing  through  the  azure  like 
galleons  freighted  from  wealthiest  Ind.  James  had,  as  he 
told  me,  gone  to  hunt  certain  dangerous  wolves  which 
infested  the  fastnesses  of  Buchan  and  the  Dungeon  of 
Enoch.  He  would  be  away  for  several  days,  and  I  was 
to  rest  in  peace  at  Thrieve,  awaiting  his  return. 

I  did  not  greatly  regret  his  absence.  The  castle  was 
so  different  a  place,  with  James  for  over-lord — so  full  of 
the  bravery  of  noise  and  pageant,  of  horns  blowing,  of  the 
filling  of  bumpers  and  the  crying  of  healths,  that  a  day  or 
two  of  the  old  quiet  were  to  me  (at  least  in  my  present 
case)  dreamily  grateful.  So,  in  fine,  my  husband  kissed 
me,  patted  me  on  the  head,  pulled  an  ear,  and  bade  me  go 
lie  down  and  sleep  till  he  should  return  with  a  pack  of 
wolf-skins  to  make  a  brave  bass  for  the  cradle.  For  such 
(there  is  no  need  to  make  secrets  of  the  matter)  consti- 
tuted my  dearest  hope  at  that  time. 

I  still  remember  the  long-drawn  peace  of  that  reprieve 
— the  open  windows  of  the  castle,  through  which  came, 
in  puffs  and  breathings,  the  warm  perfect  wind  of  the 
summer  days.  I  recall — with  the  exactness  of  one  who 
recovers  from  long  illness,  and  who,  content  with  the  sur- 
cease of  pain,  lies  lax  and  faint  with  every  sense  rendered 
more  acute — the  plunging  splash  of  the  cattle  wading 

194 


THE   ONE   EWE    LAMB  195 

clumsily  in  the  shallows  of  the  ford,  the  iterated  calling  of 
a  cuckoo  far  away  in  the  woods  of  Glenlochar,  belated 
and  forlorn,  and  above  all  the  dark  flashing  of  the  swifts' 
wings  athwart  the  blue  oblong  of  my  open  window,  their 
screaming  stoop  and  swoop  from  dizzy  heights,  two  oft- 
times  clinging  together,  as  if  playing  at  "  barley-break  " 
or  "  pretty  pigeon,"  the  oft-repeated  whish  they  made  as 
they  crossed  before  the  sill,  like  the  hissing  rending  of 
fine  silk,  and  then,  seen,  but  all  unheard,  the  same  black 
wings  half  a  mile  away,  beating  the  air  as  they  went.  I 
took  all  in  with  the  net  precision  of  the  convalescent — 
sights  and  sounds  and  scents  coming  up  keen  and  eager 
to  my  over-excited  senses. 

It  was,  as  I  say,  a  great  drowsy  day,  already  hot  and 
hay-scented  by  nine  in  the  morning.  They  were  ^cutting 
in  the  meadow,  I  mind,  opposite  the  Isle,  as  well  as  on 
the  flats  of  Thrieve,  and  a  fine  smell  it  made  in  the  morn- 
ing heat. 

So  I  lay  long  awake,  half  content  with  what  was,  and 
half  a-dream  of  what  was  yet  to  be.  The  sharp  cri-cri 
of  the  mower's  sharpening  strake  on  his  blade  hardly  dis- 
turbed me.  It  recalled  one  of  those  cicada-crickets  of  the 
south,  which  in  harvest  used  to  awake  me  at  Cour  Chev- 
erney  even  before  the  bell  tolled  for  matins  in  the  July 
mornings. 

Thus,  half  asleep  and  half  awake,  I  lay  in  a  great  and 
sweet  peace.  The  castle  was  very  silent.  Maud  had  bid- 
den me  lie  long  and  take  my  rest,  saying  that  that  morn- 
ing she  would  go  to  the  Three  Thorns  for  the  children. 
They  were  to  stay  at  Thrieve  till  James  returned.  Maud 
desired  not  to  have  them  where  they  might  hear  (espec- 
ially the  twins,  Cuthbert  and  Brice,  who  loved  the  stables 
and  armourer's  sheds)  an  occasional  rough-spoken  word 
from  some  of  the  company  that  followed  James  Douglas. 
He  himself,  with  all  his  carelessness,  used  none  such — 
only  great  midrifif-shaking  laughters  and  oaths  by  St. 
Bride  and  St.  Loy,  which  he  had  learned  in  France  or 
elsewhere  on  his  travels. 

Well,  so  at  least  it  was.  Finally  I  began  to  bestir  me, 
and   had   the   wherewithal   to   break  my    fast   brought. 


196  MAY    MARGARET 

Then  I  dozed  off  again  into  that  sweet  warm  summer 
silence,  soothed  by  the  crisp  coolness  of  the  linen  sheets 
on  the  bed,  that  had  been  freshly  spread.  But  all  sud- 
denly I  awoke  with  a  cry.  I  cannot  tell  why  or  how. 
But  I  must  have  been  in  great  terror.  It  seemed  that  I 
stood  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss — deep,  deep,  so  deep  and 
palely  blue,  all  swimming  with  vapours,  but  with  no 
bottom.  And  lo!  James  came  suddenly  behind  me  and 
pushed  me  over  the  edge.  So  I  fell — fell — fell — till  with 
that  cry  I  awoke  to  find  the  sun  shining  outside  and  the 
cattle  splashing  and  flicking  their  tails,  yea,  even  the  soft 
champ,  champ,  of  their  jaws  I  could  hear  as  they  chewed 
their  cud  under  the  shadow  of  the  castle.  All  came  up, 
clear  and  unforgettable,  lying  so.  And  this  strangest  thing 
of  all  I  remember,  that  when  James  pushed  me,  it  was  not 
into  the  abysses  of  the  air  that  I  fell,  but,  as  it  were,  into 
fathomless  water,  and  through  the  cool,  aft"righting  blue 
deeps  there  swam  up  to  me  as  it  had  been  an  angel 
with  the  head  of  Larry  McKim,  and  he  said  to  me,  "  I 
have  made  a  new  mill-wheel,  better  than  either  of  the 
others  !     Shall  we  two  go  and  set  it  a-going  ?  " 

And  just  then  I  cried  out,  and  so  awaked,  trembling 
and  in  an  access  of  terror  and  dismay. 

Yet  all  without  cause,  for  there,  aloft  and  already  right 
high,  was  the  summer  sun,  though  it  was  }'et  morning. 
I  had  not  slept  long.  The  castle  and  island  were  silent 
all  about ;  there  was  no  cause  or  excuse  for  fear ;  yet  I 
was  in  a  cold  sweat  of  terror,  so  that  my  teeth  chat- 
tered in  my  head,  and  that  in  spite  of  the  warmth  of 
summer. 

Somehow  Thrieve  seemed  suddenly  accursed.  If  a  vol- 
cano vomiting  smoke  had  arisen  under  the  ilex  oaks  and 
while  lilacs  of  the  southward  garden,  I  had  not  been  sur- 
prised; indeed  I  would  have  preferred  it  to  this  uncanny 
silence,  which  to  me  somehow  grew  more  and  more 
unbearable  as  the  moments,  leaden-winged,  went  by  like 
a  funeral  procession. 

At  last  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  arose  and  dressed 
myself  swiftly  as  I  had  always  been  wont  to  do.  I  looked 
forth.     The  river  went  largely  past,  flowing  by  without 


THE   ONE   EWE   LAMB  197 

haste  or  noise,  as  was  its  habit.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
castle  the  courtyard  was  quiet.  No  ring  of  bit  or  stirrup 
iron,  not  even  the  hiss  of  a  groom  gentHng  a  restive  beast 
— nothing  in  the  world  to  make  afraid.  Nevertheless  I 
remained  terrified — in  a  great  fear  because  there  zvas 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 

I  went  down  the  stair  into  the  great  hall.  Silence  and 
gloom  brooded  there  in  Maud's  absence.  Only  one  window 
was  open,  and  the  sunlight  fell  upon  a  glove  of  James's, 
cast  aside  carelessly,  or  simply  not  picked  up  as  he  went 
out  humming  a  tune  or  whistling  to  his  dogs. 

Somehow  this  little  thing  smote  me  to  the  heart.  I 
grew  faint  and  dizzy  with  looking  at  it.  My  pulses 
thrummed  in  my  ears,  quick  and  light,  so  that  through  all 
my  body  there  went  an  impatient  envy  to  lie  down  and 
die — that  I  might  be  done  with  it.  But  I  mastered  the 
feeling,  and,  going  to  the  cupboard,  took  down  a  glass 
of  the  strong  wine  of  Malaga,  which  afforded  me  some 
strength  in  my  causeless  fear  and  foolish  weakness. 

But  for  all  that  I  could  not  rest  in  the  castle — no,  not 
for  a  moment  longer.  So  I  went  out,  and  just  within 
the  stable  precincts  I  came  upon  a  quartette  of  grooms, 
some  asleep  and  some  merely  chewing  of  straws  on  a  bed 
of  fodder.  And  when  they  saw  me  they  stood  up  blink- 
ingly,  and  as  it  seemed,  with  a  sort  of  dull  loutish  resent- 
ment, like  servitors  disturbed  at  a  meal.  For  me  they  had 
noways  expected,  having  kept  track  only  of  Sholto  and 
Maud,  their  accustomed  superiors,  and  of  My  Lord 
James,  who  was  to  them  as  a  god,  and  observed  as 
such  in  his  comings  and  goings,  his  horse-ridings  and 
tiltings. 

It  seemed  somehow  that  there  was  a  power  compelling 
me  to  go  and  search  for  Maud  and  her  children.  Some 
disaster  had  surely  overtaken  them.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Andro  the  Penman  pressed  upon  me  that,  Sholto  being 
with  them,  nothing  disastrous  could  possibly  happen. 
Nevertheless  I  was  far  from  content.  The  heart  within 
me  fluttered  like  a  shadow  in  clear  water. 

So  surpassing  grew  my  distress  that  I  bade  Andro 
saddle  the  white  Arab,  saying  that  I  would  ride  by  myself. 


198  MAY    MARGARET 

He  prayed  and  besought  me  to  allow  him  to  accompany 
me.  But  I  refused.  Somehow  I  knew  that  I  must  go 
alone  to  the  Three  Thorns  that  day.  It  was  not  a  long 
way.  Across  by  the  ford  I  went,  riding  easily,  because 
Haifa  loved  to  dabble  her  four  white  feet  in  the  cool  peaty 
brown  of  the  shallow  rushing  water. 

Then  through  the  rushes  and  the  reeds,  with  plenty  of 
brackeny  dry  places  were  the  rabbits  scuffled  hastily  into 
the  undergrowth,  over  bloomy  knowes,  where  all  day 
long  one  heard  the  Whit-zvhit-whce  of  the  stone-chat  or 
the  Chec-chee-cheec-ic  of  the  ox-eye  searching  for  insects 
among  the  fresh  fir-cones  of  the  wood  edges. 

Then  splash — splash — splash  we  went  through  the 
marshes,  alive  with  the  waxy  flowers  of  the  bog-bean, 
bristling  with  spiky  horse-tails,  and  having  whole  fleets 
of  water-lilies  orange  and  water-lilies  white,  afloat  on  the 
shallow  meres. 

Then  came  the  ascent  of  the  little  hill  of  Carlinwark, 
through  the  avenues  of  beeches  which  temper  the  summer 
heats,  and  even  in  winter  made  so  gallant  a  show. 

I  paused  as  I  came  to  the  summit.  I  had  seen  the  fair 
landscape  so  often  that  it  almost  seemed  like  my  home. 
Down  by  the  willows  Laurence  and  I  had  launched  our 
first  boats,  his  kilts  every  whit  as  short  as  my  skirts. 
Further  to  the  left,  behind  the  armourer's  shop  (they 
called  it  only  a  "  smiddy"  then)  I  had  kept  watch,  throw- 
ing a  stone  far  into  the  water  if  any  intruder  seemed 
likely  to  disturb  Sholto  and  Maud  in  the  ardences  of  their 
earliest  love-makings. 

Yonder  where  the  beeches  were  tallest  and  oldest,  a 
fair  and  gracious  lady,  the  mystic  and  fated  Sybilla,  had 
first  appeared  to  my  brother  William,  presaging  the  death 
to  which  his  love  for  her  had  ultimately  lured  him. 

The  children — yes,  there  they  were !  I  could  see  them 
on  the  green  playing  at  "  My  Fair  Lady,"  just  as  the 
bairns  of  the  Three  Thorns  had  done  for  ages  and  do,  I 
dare  say,  unto  this  hour. 

Flow  glad  I  was  to  hear  their  voices!  There  could 
be  nothing  very  far  wrong  with  Maud  or  Sholto,  so  long 
as  they  were  at  their  dainty  bairnly  plays  out  on  that 


THE   ONE   EWE   LAMB  199 

gfreen  sward,  dandelion-studded  and  daisy-pled  down  to 
the  ring  of  pebbles  on  which  the  wavelets  beat. 

But  I  listened  in  vain  for  that  other  far-heard,  well- 
kenned  sound,  the  ring  of  iron  on  anvil  from  the 
forge.  The  great  grimy  door  stood  open.  I  could  see 
within.  But  the  fire  was  black  out.  There  was  no  one 
of  the  blithe  brothers  at  the  bellows,  bare  of  arm  and  with 
cap  set  rakishly  over  the  left  eye,  as  is  the  wont  of 
armourers'  apprentices  all  the  world  over.  Moreover,  I 
could  see  nothing  of  Malise,  that  mighty  smith,  his  apron 
(so  they  said)  made  of  the  whole  hide  of  an  ox  of  girth, 
and  his  blanched  hair  spraying  over  his  temples  as  he 
tossed  his  head  back  to  survey  the  final  stages  of  some  new 
masterpiece. 

Then  I  remarked  something.  In  spite  of  the  ring  of 
the  children's  laughter,  there  lay  upon  the  cottage  of  the 
Three  Thorns  the  same  uncanny  silence  as  had  brooded 
upon  Thrieve.  Or,  at  least,  so  at  the  moment  it  seemed 
to  me. 

I  got  down  hastily.  Yet  none  came  forth  to  welcome 
me,  as  I  tied  Haifa  to  the  iron  ring  let  into  the  gable  at 
the  peatstack  end.  None  ran  to  offer  me  a  chair  when  I 
went  within.  The  family  were  gathered  about  the  great 
holystoned  houseplace  which  Dame  McKim  kept  in  the 
fashion  of  a  new  pin.  White-faced,  aghast,  terrified  into 
silence,  they  sat  watching  Malise,  their  father,  who,  his 
head  sunk  between  his  hands,  was  torn  with  a  grief  so  ter- 
rible, so  rending,  so  inhuman  that  there  is  no  word  in  any 
language  known  to  me  which  can  describe  it. 

Nevertheless  I  went  in,  and  the  momentary  darkening 
of  the  chamber  caused  by  my  figure  in  the  doorway 
warned  Malise  that  some  other  human  being  had  entered 
in  upon  their  grief. 

He  started  up,  his  face  dark  and  swollen  with  some- 
thing sadder  than  anguish  and  more  terrible  than  rage. 
I  think  for  a  beat  of  pulses  he  meant  to  dash  out  my 
brains.     But  Sholto  rose  and  stood  between  us. 

"  Hush,  father,"  he  said,  "  remember — she  does  not 
know!     She  also  is  smitten — even  as  we! " 

He  added  the  last  few  words  almost  in  a  whisper. 


200  MAY    MARGARET 

Then  as  my  eye  went  round  the  family  of  Malise  the 
smith  I  saw  that  Magdalen  was  absent. 

And  suddenly,  in  a  moment,  as  the  lightning-  flashes 
full  circle  from  the  East  to  the  West,  without  further 
word,  I  understood  all. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE    WHITE    FACE    OF    FATE 

And  I  was  not  mistaken. 

Sholto  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm. 
Maud  sat  still-stricken  in  the  window  comer.  The 
younger  lads  read  their  father's  face  with  a  kind  of  awe. 
Only  Sholto  was  master  of  himself,  and,  Ijy  consequence, 
of  all  within  the  house.  Even  his  mother  had  been  sub- 
dued from  her  torment  of  mourning  by  the  young  man's 
steady  quiet. 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me !"  I  cried.  "  Tell  me  quickly 
— all  that  has  happened  !  " 

Though  indeed,  as  I  have  said,  I  knew  before  any  had 
time  to  speak. 

Then  Maud,  seeing  it  was  for  the  best  that  Sholto- 
should  be  left  with  his  father  and  mother,  wordlessly 
beckoned  me  to  follow  her  out  upon  the  green.  So' 
forth  from  this  dark  House  of  Doom  we  stepped  at  once 
into  the  great  blue  sunshiny  day,  with  the  whaups  and 
water-birds  crying  aloft,  and  the  airs  blowing  brisk  and 
caller  from  the  Braes  of  Cull  and  Castle  Gower.  But 
what  struck  me  most  was  the  sound  of  the  bairns  play- 
ing innocently  together.  They  were  singing  as  of  yore 
the  refrain: 

"  What  will  the  robbers  do  to  you,  do  to  you,  do  to  you  ? 
What  will  the  robbers  do  to  you, 
My   Fair   Lady?" 

And  it  was  wondrous  wae  to  see  the  young  things  thus- 
sporting  on  the  grass,  joining  hands,  advancing  and 
retiring,  bowing,  and  waving  hands,  according  as  their 
dance  led  them,  and  yet  know  that  within  that  house  there 
was  not  one,  old  or  young,  who  had  not  a  broken  heart. 

20I 


202  MAY   MARGARET 

To  escape  their  importunities  Maud  and  I  walked  a 
little  apart  into  the  glades  of  the  wood,  without  looking 
the  one  at  the  other.     Then,  all  suddenly,  she  spoke. 

"  The  Earl  James  hath  taken  away  our  little 
Magdalen ! " 

Yes,  I  had  known  it.  As  I  said  before,  I  understood 
at  once,  as  soon  as  I  had  looked  at  those  poor  folk  gath- 
ered in  the  cottage  of  the  Three  Thorns.  But  to  hear  it 
spoken  for  truth  and  fact  was  another  matter.  The 
words  turned  me  sick,  not  perhaps  with  anger,  or  even 
sorrow,  as  it  ought,  but  first  of  all,  and  before  I  thought  of 
the  McKims,  with  the  ignominy  of  it. 

To  Maud  I^made  no  answer;  words  failed  me.  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  drop  down  and  die.  But  to  die  thus  is  not 
given  to  women  when  they  will,  not  even  when  they  pray 
hardest  for  it.  There  were  the  playing  babes,  there  the 
green  lakeside  strath,  yonder  the  birds,  the  red-painted 
heather,  the  blue  sky;  all  as  it  had  been.  Yet  to  be 
shamed  every  day  and  all  the  days,  till  I  died;  that  was 
the  difference. 

^  God  help  us  all !  We  are  weak  creatures.  Oftentimes 
it  is  the  surroundings  of  misfortune,  the  pattern  of  the 
cup  from  which  we  drink,  that  make  the  draught  most  bit- 
ter! That  Another  should  know,  that  nature  should  be 
so  cruelly  careless  and  indifferent — these  things  pique 
us  with  sharper  agony  than  even  the  friend's  knife  in  the 
heart.  One  is  never  betrayed  but  by  one's  own,  they  say ; 
and  so  I  was  slain  by  James — James,  who  had  brought  me 
new  life,  the  very  beginnings  of  life,  indeed,  after  those 
ten  years  of  slow  death  at  Thrieve,  when  I  was  a  woman, 
and  did  not  know  it  until  he  showed  me.  And  now,  now 
he  had  taken  the  life  he  gave — taken  it,  and  rendered  it 
vile. 

Such  a  short  time  ago  it  seemed  since  he  came  riding  in 
that  first  time  with  his  retinue  through  the  great  archway 
of  Thrieve!  And  yet,  walking  there  by  the  side  of  the 
water,  I  never  once  thought  of  questioning  the  truth  of 
the  accuser's  word.  Besides,  I  had  known  Maud  Lindsay 
all  my  life;  I  had  known  Sholto;  I  had  known  Dame  Bar- 
bara— Malise ;  they  did  not  lie. 


THE   WHITE    FACE    OF   FATE  203 

Yet  I  made  no  protestations ;  scarce  had  I  care  or 
interest  sufficient  to  ask  how  the  thing  had  become  known. 
But  at  last  I  found  the  words. 

"  Tell  me,  Maud,"  I  said,  with  that  curious  chill  calm 
which  comes  at  such  times,  as  if  some  other  than  I  were 
speaking-,  "  who  hath  brought  this  story  to  the  Three 
Thorns  ?  " 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  little  crumpled  scrap  of 
paper.  It  was  written  in  Magdalen's  hand-of-write. 
Laurence  himself  had  taught  her,  and  she  wrote  clearly 
and  like  a  clerk,  forming  her  letters  one  by  one  without 
running  them  together  as  the  manner  of  some  is. 

"  Read  it !  "  she  said,  "  God  in  his  heaven,  surely  you 
have  the  right! " 

At  first  the  words  refused  to  form  themselves  before 
my  eyes.  I  gat  no  sort  of  meaning  out  of  the  written 
characters,  but  after  a  while  they  seemed  to  swim  up  to 
me  out  of  a  glancing  mist. 

My  Father  [wrote  Magdalen  McKim]  :  This  will  bring  you 
pain — to  you  and  all,  to  my  mother — but  most  (and  most  bitterly 
I  grieve  for  that)  to  the  gracious  lady  of  Castle  Thrieve.  But 
till  he  came  into  my  life,  I  had  never  loved  any  man.  And  I 
stood  out  long — long  against  his  will — till  the  thing  grew  too 
strong  for  me.  I  can  do  no  more.  I  love  the  Earl  James,  as  a 
woman  loves  a  man  when  she  will  gladly  give  her  life  for  him. 
He  is  great.  I  less  than  nothing.  Let  him  do  with  me  what- 
soever he  will.  Be  not  sorry  overmuch  or  overlong  for  the 
pain  I  have  left  behind  me.  Be  sorry  rather  that  God  hath  made 
such  a  thing  as  I  am  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  any  man  !  But  be 
never  sorry  for  her  who,  till  this  day,  had  the  right  to  sign 
herself 

Your  Daughter  Magdalen, 

Little  and  Only. 

Slowly  the  truth  entered  in — sharp  as  the  knife  of  a  sur- 
geon, or  perchance,  more  like  a  probe  moved  cunningly 
to  find  the  root  of  some  hidden  disease.  Through  the 
unchanged  brightness  of  the  glad  high  day  came  slov^^ly 
the  intolerable  certainty  that  this  thing  was  mine — 
my  shame,  my  sorrow,  ;;/3'  cross  that  I  must  carry  till  I 
died. 

And  James  had  done  this  to  me.     Well,   even  at  the 


204  MAY   MARGARET 

first  I  found  the  thing  not  inexplicable — so  far,  that  is, 
as  he  was  concerned.  But  Magdalen  McKim,  the  girl 
who  wandered  far  from  her  home  to  be  alone  with  the 
wild  things  of  the  hills  and  the  woods,  what  had  she  found 
in  James  Douglas  ?  Ah,  that  question  was  more  difficult, 
yet  for  the  present  it  did  not  greatly  trouble  or  even 
interest  me. 

"  What  will  they  do  ? "  I  asked  of  Maud,  as  she  sat 
with  her  face  firm,  fixed,  and  pale  as  wax,  looking  across 
the  loch  to  the  sapphire  ridge  of  Ben  Gairn  solid  against 
the  southern  horizon. 

"  God  help  us  all,  I  know  not !  "  she  answered ;  "  the 
McKims  have  made  an  oath  to  find  her  first  and  kill  the 
Lord  James  afterwards — that  is,  all  but  Sholto!  Malise 
the  smith  it  was  laid  it  upon  the  lads.  He  swears  he  will 
hunt  the  traitor  as  he  hunted  De  Retz.  They  have  sworn 
a  bond  of  vengeance,  each  pricking  himself  and  signing 
with  his  blood." 

"  But  Sholto,"  I  said,  "  will  he  leave  me  alone  in  my 
time  of  need?  Will  he  hold  as  naught  the  love  of  a  life- 
time ?     And  you,  Maud,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  very  sadly  and  slowly.  The  tears 
flowed  silently  down  her  cheeks.  She  did  not  weep. 
Only  when  one  glanced  at  her,  lo!  there  was  the  water 
running  down  her  face.  But  not  looking  closely,  one 
might  have  noticed  nothing. 

"  Ah,  Margaret,"  she  made  answer  at  last,  "  that  I 
know  not.  I  am  your  friend  always,  but  a  wife  must  go 
with  her  husband  !  " 

I  could  not  restrain  a  sharp  intake  of  the  breath  as 
she  spoke  the  words.  They  fell  hard  on  me,  remembering 
those  things  which  I  had  just  listened  to.  But  Maud, 
for  once  not  wholly  enwrapt  in  her  husband  and  her 
babes,  turned  and  caught  me. 

"  I  meant  it  not,"  she  said,  "  forgive  me !  But  believe 
me  also — Sholto  will  never  be  less  your  friend.  I  know 
him.  Ten  times  for  one  it  is  I  who  bid  him  do  this  or 
that.  But  when  there  comes  a  look — a  certain  look  I 
know  well  on  his  face,  I  am  glad — yes,  very  glad  to  be 
silent  and  obey !     Thus  it  is  with  women !  " 


THE    WHITE    FACE    OF    FATE  205 

Then  I  had  a  kind  of  access  of  foolish  tears — the  first. 
And  perhaps,  I  have  since  thought,  it  was  that  weeping 
which  saved  me. 

"  Maud,"  I  cried,  "  is  it  not  strange  that  I  am  like  the 
woman  in  the  Scripture — she  who  had  so  many  husbands 
— and  he  whom  she  now  hath  is  not  her  husband  ?  " 

"  Hush !  "  commanded  Maud,  "  it  is  not  good  that  one 
in  grief  should  speak  of  such  things.  The  sorrow  comes 
from  God !  " 

"  And  James  Douglas  ?  "  I  queried,  "  perhaps  he  and 
his  sin  also  come  from  God  ?  " 

But  seeing  my  mood,  she  would  not  answer,  but  held 
her  peace  and  that  wisely. 

"  This  becomes  you  not,  Margaret,"  she  said,  gently 
holding  me  with  her  strong  young  arms  laid  motherly 
about  my  shoulders ;  "  you  can  do  nothing  here.  Get  you 
back  to  Thrieve.  Sholto  shall  go  with  you.  As  soon 
as  may  be  I  will  follow  with  the  children.  This  is  to-day 
no  fit  place  for  babes.  Come — let  me  find  you  Haifa. 
Nay,  do  not  go  in  again.  The  old  man  is  mad.  He 
sees  red.  There  is  the  lust  of  blood  in  his  eyes! 
Hasten !  " 

And  as  we  w^ent  round  the  little  cottage  of  the  Three 
Thorns  there  came  from  the  interior,  hoarse  and  terrible 
to  hear,  the  cursing  of  the  smith :  ' 

"  Man  and  boy,  three  score  years  and  three  have  I, 
Malise  McKim,  served  the  Douglases,  but  I  will  serve 
them  no  more !  They  have  taken  all  from  me  that  I  gave 
them — all — self  and  sons  and  years  a-many.  One  little 
ewe  lamb  was  for  myself.  I  kept  her.  She  was  as  the 
children  of  Mary  the  Virgin,  as  the  little  ones  who  scat- 
tered the  palm  branches  in  the  way  for  Mary's  Son,  sweet 
and  lovely  and  innocent.  She  was  unto  me — to  me  alone. 
Freely  I  gave  my  sons  to  the  Doviglas.  I  gave  them  to  the 
death.  But  this  white  lamb,  sole  of  the  fold,  born  out  of 
her  due  time,  I  held  nestled  safe — as  I  thought — within 
these  old  arms !  And  now,  by  the  God  that  put  strength 
in  these  wrists  and  anger  in  this  heart,  I  will  hate  even 
as  I  have  loved.  Honey  is  turned  to  gall !  Service  to  a 
hunting  with  dogs.     I  will  bring  down  this  dark  house — 


2o6  MAY    MARGARET 

I  will  level  it  with  the  ground  for  what  it  hath  wrought — • 
God  be  my  witness !  " 

At  this  point  I  could  hear  Sholto's  voice  say  something, 
but  the  words  I  could  not  hear. 

"  Come  away,  Margaret,"  said  Maud,  striving  to  draw 
me  out  of  the  reach  of  that  terrible  malediction,  "  this  is 
not  fit  for  you  to  hear ! " 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  let  me  stay.  Part  is  for  me,  is 
it  not?  Am  not  I  a  Douglas?  Did  not  you  yourself  say 
that  a  woman  must  go  with  her  husband — ah,  her 
husband!" 

At  this  moment  I  could  hear  Malise  break  away  from 
his  eldest  son  with  a  kind  of  a  roar  like  that  of  a  wild 
beast. 

"  No,  by  Him  and  his  Hosts,  I  will  not !  "  he  shouted, 
in  answer  to  some  appeal.  "  Stand  away  from  me,  boy, 
or  you  shall  die  by  the  hand  of  the  father  that  begat  you ! 
I  care  not  though  I  have  served  six  Douglases,  all  of  them 
good  men.  They  are  dead  and  gone  to  their  own  place. 
But  this — this  coward — nay,  even  now  I  will  give  him  his 
dues.  James  of  Douglas  is  no  coward  with  his  hands, 
but  only  with  his  heart  and  with  his  soul !  Yet  he — my 
master — that  I  thought  to  serve  and  to  die  serving,  hath 
done  this  shame  unto  me !  Out  of  the  way,  boy.  I  will 
go  to  the  King — aye — Stewart  though  he  be  !  I  will  go  to 
Crichton.  I  will  go  to  my  Lord  Angus.  He  at  least  is  a 
Douglas,  if  he  hath  not  the  pith  of  a  peeled  willow  wand. 
But  I  swear  it,  though  James  Douglas  were  as  strong  as 
Thrieve,  and  carried  in  his  veins  all  the  blood  of  all  the 
thirty  lords  of  the  Black  House,  I  would  bring  him  down. 
I  would  slay  him.  The  curse  of  Malise  the  smith  be 
on  every  Douglas,  small  and  great,  that  hath  in  their  veins 
a  drop  of  the  blood  of  Avondale.  Nay,  you  mistake.  I 
said  '  of  Avondale.'  The  poor  Maid  of  Galloway,  little 
Margaret — no,  I  do  not  curse  her.  She,  at  least,  hath 
done  nothing  amiss,  and  the  blow  falls  heavy  also  upon 
her.  It  was  an  ill-done  thing  to  fear  her,  being  as  she  is. 
But,  if  I  know  the  Douglas  blood — if  I  know  the  sister  of 
William  and  David,  who  died  in  Edinburgh,  she  will 
hold  still  to  the  man  who  hath  done  the  wrong — because 


THE    WHITE    FACE    OF    FATE  207 

he  is  her  husband,  because  he  also  is  a  Douglas.  So  shall 
the  curse  of  Malise  also  fall  slantwise  upon  her — the 
curse  of  the  old  man  left  daughterless,  the  curse  of  him 
that  had  but  one  ewe  lamb  and  now — hath  her  not!" 

Sholto  had  come  out,  knowing  by  some  instinct  the 
nearness  of  Maud,  or  perhaps  our  need  of  him. 

"  For  the  present  I  can  do  nothing  with  my  father," 
he  said.  "  It  is  useless.  There  is  indeed  no  need  for  me 
there.  Gladly  will  I  ride  with  our  dear  lady,  and  do  you 
follow  after,  Maud,  my  wife ! " 

So,  ever  gentle  and  kind,  and  of  a  nature  at  all  times  to 
be  depended  on,  was  Sholto  McKim — like  him  there  was 
none  among  the  knights  in  any  hall  of  king  or  prince  the 
world  over. 

So  as  he  and  I  went  gently  up  the  green  brae,  we  could 
see  Maud  gathering  the  babes  about  her.  They  came 
coursing  to  her  knee  like  greyhounds  to  the  call,  leaping 
upon  her,  shrieking  in  their  joy.  But  when  we  paused  at 
the  top,  lo !  she  had  gotten  them  calmed  by  some  grave 
word.  Doubtless  they  were  already  making  their  prep- 
arations for  returning  to  Thrieve.  A  sedate  little  com- 
pany they  made,  walking  cottagewards — Maud  in  the 
midst,  a  bairn  clinging  to  either  hand,  the  twins  holding 
her  gown  and  the  tall  Marcella,  walking  discreet  and 
downcast,  a  little  to  one  side. 

Ah,  it  would  have  been  easier  for  Maud — ^that  which 
I  had  to  endure.  She  had  so  much — so  many,  rather. 
She  was  buttressed  against  fate.  These  babes  were  all 
hers.     But  I  had — zvhatF 

It  turned  me  cold  to  think  what. 

And  there  looking  back  from  the  top  of  the  hill,  the 
little  cottage  with  the  flowers  showed  white  as  ever  in  the 
sun.  Who  could  have  guessed  that  the  folk  therein,  old 
and  young,  would  never  again  be  glad  with  the  ancient 
gladness,  never  loyal  with  the  old  loyalty — never  the  same 
as  the  day  before,  separated  for  ever  from  those  who 
had  been  to  them  at  once  masters  and  friends.  Even 
when  Death  had  set  his  foot  on  the  anthill,  and  all  these 
human  creatures  had  been  stamped  back  into  clay,  the 
blue  above  would  never  again  be  as  innocent  and  clear. 


2o8  MAY    MARGARET 

nor  the  white  clouds  as  pure  and  glad  and  billowy  as  they 
had  been — yesterday !  Hardly  even  then  would  these 
human  hates  and  human  pains  have  an  end.  For  what 
is  the  hell  the  priests  speak  of,  save  the  Evil  growing  ever 
more  evil,  from  everlasting  to  everlasting — even  as  the 
good  and  the  godlike  and  the  unselfish  shall  flourish  for 
aye  in  the  paradise,  the  Garden  Inclosed  of  God. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Of  that  ride  with  Sholto  I  remember  scarcely  anything. 
Haifa  had  been  chafing,  as  was  his  custom,  and  when  we 
left  the  Carlinwark  and  turned  our  faces  towards  the  tall 
tower  which  was  Thrieve,  I  had  a  difficulty  in  holding 
him  in — which  perhaps  was  as  good  for  me  as  anything 
else. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  home !  "  said  Sholto,  for  once  mak- 
ing a  mistake  which  a  woman  would  not  have  made — at 
least,  I  know,  Maud  would  not. 

An  eclat  of  laughter  took  hold  of  me — scornful,  bitter 
as  when  one  awakes  with  the  taste  of  gall  in  his  mouth. 

"Home!"  I  cried;  "home!  Ah,  you  have  said  it, 
Sholto,  lad !  Yonder  is  my  dear  home !  I  will  hasten 
thither.     My  husband  will  be  waiting  for  me !  " 

It  was  cruel,  too  cruel  to  speak  thus.  But,  before  God 
I  could  not  help  it;  and  that  which  followed  is  my  com- 
plete excuse.  I  leave  it  to  women  to  judge,  to  men  also. 
Half  mad,  I  set  my  white  Arabian  to  the  gallop,  and, 
nothing  loath,  he  took  the  fenland  and  the  knowes  of  the 
heather,  the  deep  matted  ditches,  and  soft  peaty  common 
lands  in  his  stride.  He  dashed  through  the  Ford  of  Dee 
without  waiting  for  the  drawbridge,  and  I  laughed  at 
3'oung  A'Cormack,  who  came  to  the  door  of  his  guard-hut 
in  amaze.  Yes,  I  laughed,  and  tossed  my  hand  at  him 
mockingly.     I  was  not  in  my  right  mind. 

Then,  as  Haifa  stopped,  all  foaming  and  breathless, 
.at  the  great  gate  of  Thrieve,  I  slipped  down  to  the  ground 
in  a  dead  faint.  I  remember  no  more ;  but  I  know  that 
I  lay  there  till  Sholto — who,  to  keep  me  in  sight,  had 
almost  killed  his  heavier  charger  in  the  bogs  and  marl- 
pits  betwixt  Carlinwark  and  the  Castle — lifted  me  up 
and  bore  me  in.     For  my  poor  Haifa — he  at  least  faithful 


THE   WHITE    FACE    OF    FATE  209 

— had  stood  quite  still  beside  me,  doing  me  no  harm,  only- 
snuffing,  and  blowing  his  white  foam  upon  me  in  a  kind 
of  dumb  protest  and  wonderment. 

And  when  I  awoke  it  was  as  from  death.  Ah,  that  I 
had  been  indeed  dead !  All  the  pleasure  I  have  known 
since  cannot  make  up  for  the  pain  of  that  moment. 

Maud  was  sitting  beside  me.  The  race  of  the  Doug- 
lases of  the  Black  was  of  truth  extinct.  But  at  least  I 
was  free  from  James  Douglas.  His  babe  and  mine  was 
dead — dead,  as  if  slain  by  his  hand.  I  read  it  in  Maud's 
eyes. 

I  think  I  sighed  a  long  sigh  and  shut  my  eyes  again. 

''Better  so!" 

That  was  the  thought  which  arose  within  me. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 


I    SEE    A    STAR 


We  were  still  at  Thrieve.  The  woods  were  yet  one 
manifest  emerald.  Only  the  birds  began  to  take  up  again 
their  later  after-summer  song.  It  was  a  fair  place.  But 
— how  shall  I  describe  it? — to  me  there  was  a  veil  over 
everything.  Over  the  river  something  smoked  black  like 
a  chimney  that  will  not  draw  aright.  A  grey  netting 
of  mist  was  flung  over  the  trees.  At  times  there  came 
a  thicker  drift  of  the  same  slate-coloured  reek,  as  if  the 
pain  and  the  sin  went  crying  up  from  the  ground  like  the 
blood  of  righteous  Abel. 

Even  the  splendours  of  sunset  over  the  purple  ridges 
of  Balmaghie,  and  the  dewy  clearness  of  sunrise  welling 
up  out  of  the  east  behind  the  wood-crests  of  Carlinwark 
were  tached  and  bedabbled  by  that  black  spume,  the 
breath  as  of  the  burning  of  Babylon  the  Great,  mother  of 
abominations. 

Only  at  one  spot  did  the  countryside  about  Thrieve 
keep  its  ancient  sweetness,  and  that  was  up  towards  the 
little  kirkyard  of  Balmaghie — outside  of  which  they  had 
buried  him,  my  babe. 

There  comes  a  wetness  in  these  old  eyes,  as  I  write, 
that  was  lacking  in  them  forty  years  ago.  Then  I  could 
look  with  scarcely  more  than  a  dry  hot  twitching  of  the 
throat  at  the  place.  But  now,  grown  old  and  once  more 
verging  on  childhood,  the  tears  come  great  and  salt — 
though  not  easily  as  they  used  to  do  at  Cour  Cheverney, 
or  at  Thrieve  during  those  ten  years  when  I  fretted  wait- 
ing for  that  which  was  to  bring  me  so  much  pain  when 
I  gat  it. 

For  the  rest  I  can  hardly  tell  the  wonderful  thoughts 
that    came    into    my    head    durmg   these    days.    I    had 


2IO 


I    SEE    A    STAR  211 

changed  my  chamber  from  the  south  side,  where  the 
black  reek  seemed  to  whirl  and  drift  most  thickly 
( though  all  the  time  I  knew  it  was  only  in  my  head !  ) 
to  the  north,  from  which,  up  the  splendid  pathway  of  the 
broad  undivided  river,  glancing  crystal-clear,  I  could 
see  the  ridge,  behind  which  was  Balmaghie's  little  white 
kirk,  with  the  birds  singing  in  the  lilac  bushes  under 
which  he  lay,  just  outside  the  wall  of  consecration  (but 
within  God's  heavenly  acre),  my  bairn — the  Douglas  who 
had  never  had  a  name  or  a  title  when  they  laid  him  in 
earth. 

Then  at  morn,  at  the  very  first  breaking  of  it,  green 
and  infinite  as  if  the  Dawn  of  Dawns  were  indeed  come, 
I  was  used  to  rise  and  look  out  of  that  northward  window. 
Yonder,  pearl-clear  and  unsullied  amid  the  green,  glowed 
his  grave — yes,  his.  And  I  could  not  help  but  think  of 
him  as  like  That  Other  who  had  His  grave  in  a  green 
garden — the  Sinless  One  who  died  for  the  sins  of  others. 

And  Above,  where  she  sat  at  her  Son's  feet,  the  Mother 
Mary  was  not  angry  when  I  thought  of  this,  but  smiled 
and  was  well-pleased.  So  that  for  a  moment  the  clouds 
weie  rolled  aside.  The  sky  glowed  white  and  blue,  the 
Holy  Virgin's  colours,  and,  till  the  darkness  shut  down 
and  the  eager  pain  banked  up  again  in  my  heart,  I  could 
even  put  up  a  prayer  to  Mary  and  her  Son. 

To  God  I  could  not  pray.  For  He,  I  knew,  was  going 
to  punish  James  for  his  wrong-doing — and  in  that, 
though  I  could  not  forget,  I  desired  to  have  no  part.  It 
was  not  that  I  did  not  forgive.  For  myself  I  did — yes, 
from  the  first.  But  that  dear  dead  babe  cried  from  the 
ground.  And  once,  in  the  silence  of  the  night  I  heard 
him  cry,  and  I  awoke  and  looked,  and  lo !  to  the  north, 
clear  and  wonderful,  a  star. 

Then  I  put  on  my  clothes  very  quietly,  and,  passing  on 
tiptoe  the  door  of  the  chamber  where  Maud  slumbered, 
tired  out  with  her  manifold  anxieties,  then  out  by  the  little 
private  gate,  I  slipped  past  the  sentries  like  a  ghost  fill 
on  the  shingle  without  I  found  a  skifif  moored.  I  pushed 
across  the  black  pool,  striking  the  water  at  random, 
sometimes  with  one  oar,  sometimes  with  two,  but  keeping 


212  MAY    MARGARET 

my  eyes  always  on  the  star.  How  it  shone — large  and 
pure  and  gracious,  like  the  rising  of  the  harvest  moon 
over  the  serried  sheaves  of  corn !  By-and-by  I  came  to 
the  land,  or  rather  it  pushed  itself  softly  against  the  boat. 
A  place  deep-hidden  among  lush  meadow  grasses  it  was. 
Often,  and  in  vain,  I  have  tried  to  find  it  since. 

Dew-wet  above,  sponge-soft  underneath  it  must  have 
been,  but  of  that  I  have  no  memory.  Certain  tall  marish 
grasses  I  remember  shaking  their  heads  as  I  went  by. 
Then  came  the  acrid  smell  of  bog-bean  at  night,  of  wet 
Queen-of-the-Meadow  also,  which  thrust  a  tassel  of 
blonde  dripping  fur  into  my  face.  I  gathered  my  gown 
and  sped  northward — mine  eyes  on  the  star.  I  feared — 
oh,  how  I  feared  that  it  would  fade  before  I  gat  there — 
the  way  was  so  long! 

Yes,  I  prayed  that  it  might  not!  For  I  thought — I 
seemed  to  feel  that  all  was  in  that.  If  I  saw  the  light 
when  I  reached  the  spot,  my  babe  (whom  they  had  buried 
unblessed  by  priestly  hand)  would  see  the  Face  of  God 
and  lie  on  the  bosom  of  that  Other  Mother,  whose  bene- 
diction would  not  be  lacking.  Also  I  thought  that  James, 
after  God  had  reckoned  with  him  on  earth,  might  also 
be  forgiven.     Perhaps.     At  least  I  prayed  so. 

So  I  ran  on,  eager  and  forgetful  of  all,  save  what  God 
was  to  do  for  me,  and  the  babe  and  James — and,  yes — 
for  that  poor  unhappy  girl  also,  that  Magdalen,  whose 
beauty  had  tempted  my — no,  I  could  not  call  him  that 
— had  tempted  James  Douglas  to  his  fate !  For  such  are 
one  woman's  best  thoughts  of  another ! 

Then  was  strength  given  me,  not  of  myself,  not  the 
strength  of  my  poor  limbs,  made  weak  by  sufifering.  But 
something  quite  different — out  of  me,  of  divine  gift,  mar- 
vellous. 

On  and  on  I  went,  till  the  marshes  gave  way  to  the 
dryer  field-pastures  with  the  starting  sheep,  and  then, 
hedged  with  thorns  and  prickles,  came  little  patches  of 
yellowing  corn.  And  once  in  a  hollow  I  lost  the  light, 
and  I  fell  prone  on  my  face.  But  not  till  long  after- 
wards did  I  know  myself  hurt.  For  in  a  moment  I  was 
up  again  and  ran  on.     y\nd  lo !  the  light  as  I  came  nearer, 


I    SEE    A    STAR  215 

grew  more  bright;  but,  as  it  were,  divided  and  scattered 
here  and  there  among  the  gravestones. 

And  I  heard  a  sound  of  singing  as  if  a  myriad  of  the 
heavenly  host  was  chanting  a  psahn  in  honour  of  a  Httle 
babe.  So  I  ran  fast  and  faster,  lest  all  might  vanish  like 
a  dream  of  the  night,  be  ended  like  the  song  of  a  bird, 
when,  being  frighted,  it  flies  from  one  wood  to  another 
far  away. 

For  this  reason  I  grew  cautious,  as  those  who  see 
visions  must  often  be.  I  had  heard  of  the  tricks  the 
Little  People  play.  So  I  went  a-tiptoe  to  the  gable  end 
of  the  kirk,  knowing  I  could  come  to  no  harm  there. 
The  kirkyard  lay  beyond.  The  kirk  itself  rose  black 
above,  as  it  seemed,  cutting  hard  against  the  stars,  mak- 
ing a  blank  in  heaven.  And  over  the  rigging,  lo,  a  soft 
gleaming  of  light  from  below !  All  the  winds  were  still. 
For  sure,  for  very  sure,  I  was  to  see  the  angels,  and  die. 
What  matter?  Better  so,  indeed!  Better  for  me  and 
for  the  babe. 

Secretly  I  looked,  hiding  my  poor  clogged  body  behind 
a  gravestone.  I  remember  now  I  was  at  once  chill  with 
cold  and  burning  with  fever.  My  gown  clung  wet 
about  me.  My  teeth  chattered.  Yet  for  all  that  my 
blood  ran  hot  and  my  heart  beat  fast.  I  was  to  see  the 
angels — perhaps  also — perhaps?  But  no,  that  could  not 
be,  and  I  did  not  want  it  to  be.  Maud  had  told  me  he 
was  dead,  and  Maud  did  not  lie.  But  if  I  could  only  see 
the  angels  blessing  him,  carrying  his  soul  upwards,  my 
little  one  whom  men  held  not  fit  to  lie  within  the  hallowed 
precinct,  dying  unbaptised — I  should  be  happy.  It  would 
be  enough. 

I  looked  again.  And  behold,  the  little  lich-gate  of  the 
kirkyard  was  open !  I  could  see  many  men  in  priestly 
robes  come  chanting,  bearing  great  candles  in  their  hands. 
One  in  the  midst,  whose  apparel  was  most  glorious,  bore 
on  his  arms  something  small,  wrapped  about  in  white. 
And  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  church,  priests  and  holy 
brethren  followed  with  their  tall  candles — till  they  came 
to  a  new-made  grave  dug  within  the  altar  rails.  And, 
looking  through  a  little  window,  I  saw  how  the  man  in 


214  MAY    MARGARET 

the  beautiful  raiment,  whose  face  was  hidden,  knelt  with 
the  white  bundle  in  his  arms,  and  how  another,  more 
simply  dressed  in  white,  with  bands  of  gold  and  purple 
over  his  shoulders,  read  out  of  a  book.  And  after  a  while, 
even  as  I  looked,  the  man  whose  face  had  been  hidden 
rose  up,  and  lo,  it  was  Laurence ! 

And  I  saw  him  lay  the  little  wdiite,  oblong  bundle  in  the 
grave,  and  the  priest  blessed  it  again,  and  sprinkled  holy 
water,  and  scattered  earth  upon  it.  And  even  as  he  stood 
there  with  his  hands  outspread,  something  gave  way  with- 
in me,  and  I  rushed  through  the  door  and  up  the  aisle 
till  I  threw  me,  as  it  were,  across  the  very  grave  wherein 
he  lay — the  babe  who  was  now  blessed,  anointed,  and 
baptised,  mayhap  against  the  canons  of  Holy  Church,  but 
of  a  certainty  according  to  the  desires  of  Him  who  drew 
the  little  children  unto  Him. 

I  lay  stretched  out  before  the  priest  wet  and  shiver- 
ing, they  tell  me,  though  burning  hot  with  fever.  And 
with  my  mouth  to  the  ground  I  cried  (I  have  no  remem- 
brance of  it)  : 

"  Bless  me  also,  O,  Holy  Ones;  bless  me,  and  the  babe, 
with  Jiis  father,  and — Yes,  I  will  say  it,  her  who  hath 
taken  him  from  me!" 

•  •  •  •  • 

They  lifted  me  up  and  brought  me  home,  to  lie  long  in 
the  north-looking  room  betwixt  life  and  death,  and  of  the 
two  infinitely  nearer  to  death,  for  many  weeks. 

And  Laurence,  ere  he  left  the  kirkyard,  bade  all  the 
fathers  and  brethren  keep  silence,  for  if  these  things  were 
known  at  Rome  every  man  of  them  would  lose  their 
frocks.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  the  God  who  made  a  man 
his  vice-gerent  on  the  earth  be  my  Court  of  Appeal 
whether  this  night  I  have  done  right  or  no !  " 

And  while  they  were  carrying  me  home  to  Thrieve, 
they  intoned  very  solemnly  the  Laiis  Deo  and  the  Gloria. 
They  knew  not  whether  or  no  I  lived,  but  they  knew  that 
here  or  hence,  having  seen  what  I  had  seen,  a  great 
weight  would  be  gone  from  my  soul. 

And  so,  indeed,  it  was.  For  when,  faint  with  the  hand 
of  Death  scarce  withdrawn  from  my  heart,  I  was  carried 


I    SEE    A    STAR  215 

to  the  southward  balcony  to  look  forth,  lo !  the  black  reek 
(which  was  Sin  Unforgiven)  had  clean  gone  from  off  the 
land. 

All  was  as  the  soul  of  my  babe,  newly  washed  like 
my  own,  my  little  chrisom,  with  the  holy  oil  of  anoint- 
ing, though  late,  still  moist  upon  his  brow.  So  that  evil 
at  least  had  passed  away,  and  for  a  time  my  soul  had  ease. 

And  as  I  lay  long,  holding  Maud's  hand,  I  asked  her 
under  my  breath  by  what  name  they  had  called  him.  For 
a  while  she  did  not  answer,  and  then  said  only,  "  Laurence 
thought  it  wise  to  call  him  William — because " 

Then,  as  she  hesitated,  I  interrupted. 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me,"  I  cried,  "  as  ever,  Laurence 
did  the  right.  Though  I  loved  him  not,  William  Doug- 
las was  my  true  husband.  It  is  well  that  the  babe  that 
was  another's,  dying  unspotted  from  the  world,  should 
bear  a  good  man's  name  in  that  nursery  where  such 
God's  children  are  kept  and  watched  and  tended !  I  am 
glad  indeed ! " 

At  that  she  kissed  me  and  I  kissed  her — for  the  first 
time  for  long  out  of  love  and  with  a  full  heart.  And 
from  that  time  forth  I  think  I  was  to  her  even  as  one  of 
her  own  children. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

DIES     IR^ — GLOAMING 

Long,  long  it  was,  that  I  lay  tossing  in  fever,  or  shaking 
in  chill,  till  one  day  I  came  forth  feeble  and  white,  the 
very  shadow  of  myself.  And  during  these  weeks  and 
months  many  things  had  been  happening. 

Without,  the  woodlands  of  Carlinwark  had  grown  rus- 
set. The  birches,  struck  with  sudden  frost,  flamed 
among  them  like  Bale-fires  on  St.  John's  Eve,  After 
that,  the  trees,  the  lakeside  bushes  and  marish  greenery, 
had  all  grown  stark  and  leafless  in  the  grip  of  the  frosts. 
Then,  through  the  bitter  spring  winds  and  the  hurl  of 
the  March  snowstorm,  milder  days  had  come  again, 
and  these,  when  they  arrived,  found  me  still  like  a  babe 
under  Maud's  hands. 

Meantime  of  the  Douglas,  what?  Of  the  fate  of  our 
great  House,  what.  James  had  fled  (so  they  said)  and 
was  reputed  on  English  soil.  The  King  had  taken  certain 
of  his  castles,  but  on  the  other  hand  Archibald,  Hugh,  and 
Little  John  (now  little  no  longer,  but  a  man  of  his 
inches)  had  convened  men  and  taken  other  fortresses 
belonging  to  the  King,  so  that  all  was  a  convulsed  hither- 
and-thither  within  the  bounds  of  Scotland. 

This  all  came  to  me  in  bits  and  snatches,  as  Maud 
sat  by  my  bedside  and  I  posed  her  with  question  upon 
question.  But  there  were  some  which  she  put  aside  and 
would  give  me  no  answer  to — as  when  I  asked  her  where 
he  was,  and  whether  he  would  ever  return  to  his  own 
again — I  meant  to  Thrieve, 

To  that  she  answered  nothing,  nor  would  for  all  my 
fleeching. 

"  And  Malise  and  his  sons  ?  "  I  asked. 

Again  she  bowed  her  head  and  was  silent. 

"  I  understand  they  are  with  the  King,"  I  answered. 

"  I  do  not  blame  them.     But,  Maud,  why  are  you  here, 

216 


DIES    IR^  217 

and  why  is  Sholto  not  with  his  father — not  with  the  king 
— against  us  ?  " 

She  took  niQ  in  her  arms  and  held  me  very  close,  as  her 
wont  had  been  ever  since  the  day  I  rode  Haifa  back 
from  the  Three  Thorns,  and  that  which  was  to  befall, 
befell. 

"  Little  one,"  she  said,  "  now  you  will  know  Sholto,  as 
I  have  known  him  these  many  years.  This  was  the 
answer  he  gave  to  his  father  when  the  old  man  called  him 
to  come  out  and  help  break  down  the  Douglases  in  the 
name  of  a  brother's  vengeance. 

My  father,'  he  answered,  him  speaking  as  ever, 
gently  and  yet  in  fear  of  no  man,  '  vengeance  shall  be 
done  on  the  head  of  the  transgressor.  Go,  if  you  will  and 
do  your  part ! ' 

" '  That  will  I,'  cried  the  smith,  '  and,  hear  you  this, 
Sholto  McKim,  if  you  stay  behind,  a  curse  that  shall  not 
lift  be  on  your  head  and  on  your  children's  heads  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation ! ' 

"  Then  Sholto,  my  husband,  being  of  his  nature  noble 
and  strong  as  a  man,  and  yet  gentle  as  any  woman, 
bowed  his  head  and  made  him  this  answer.  '  For  myself 
I  take  your  curse,  my  father.  But  as  for  my  little  chil- 
dren, that  is  not  in  your  power  to  lift  or  lay.  Yet  harken, 
when  I  came  to  Thrieve  to  put  upon  me  the  cap  of  the 
Earl's  guard  I  was  but  a  lad,  and  there  was  given  to  me 
and  to  the  girl  I  loved  the  care  of  a  little  maid — even  of 
her  who  is  now  Princess  of  Galloway,  and  hath  twice  been 
Countess  of  Douglas.  That  her  second  husband,  James, 
has  done  us  the  bitterest  wrong  and  dishonour  is  good 
reason  for  your  fighting  against  him,  but  is  no  reason 
for  my  forsaking  of  my  charge — one  who  hath  done  no 
wrong,  but  rather  suffered  much  and  long ! ' 

" '  Then,  Sholto  McKim,'  cried  his  father,  '  you  will 
not  come  with  me  and  the  lads.  You  will  abide  by  the 
Douglas.  Quick,  make  your  choice — it  is  once  and 
for  all ! ' 

" '  The  choice  was  made  from  the  first,  father,'  said 
Sholto,  '  I  can  no  other.  I  will  not  help  a  murderer  like 
the  King  even  against  James  Douglas.    I  will  abide  by  my 


2i8  MAY   MARGARET 

lady  Margaret,  in  the  place  where  she  abides.  I  will 
fight  for  her  to  the  death ! ' 

"  '  Know  you  that  the  King  has  proclaimed  her  also 
rebel  and  outlaw  ?  '  cried  Malise,  yet  more  bitterly.  *  He 
has  made  accursed  all  of  that  family.  Think  of  that, 
Sir  Sholto !  ' 

" '  I  have  stood  your  curse,  my  father,'  answered 
Sholto,  '  for  the  sake  of  her  who  was  the  Little  Maid.  At 
the  king's  I  snap  my  fingers ! ' 

"  '  I  also  had  a  little  maid,'  moaned  Malise,  the  great 
smith,  *  and  as  a  reward  for  half-a-century's  service,  my 
master  that  was  took  her  from  me.  Shall  I  stay  and 
thank  him,  make  brave  his  breastplate  for  the  tourney, 
hold  his  stirrup  when  he  dismounts  at  Thrieve?  By  God, 
not  so !  My  sword  to  his  rather — the  sword  I  made  for 
him,  I  can  shatter.  The  armour  I  forged,  I  can  pierce. 
Who,  if  not  I,  can  search  the  joints  thereof,  and  drive 
home  the  steel  to  the  dividing  of  soul  and  marrow  ? ' 

"  '  It  is  well,'  answered  Sholto,  '  well  for  you — well  for 
the  lads!  Let  the  McKims  stand  together  for  their  sis- 
ter's sake ' 

"  'And  will  you,  who  claim  to  be  a  knight  and  a  sol- 
dier, be  found  recreant  in  that  day  ?  '  cried  the  armourer, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  indeed  he  would  slay  his  first-born. 
("  If  he  had,"  interjected  the  tale-teller,  "  he  would  have 
had  to  kill  me  also.") 

"  '  I  fight  not  for  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  whom  in  his 
good  time  God  shall  judge,'  said  Sholto,  '  but  for  the 
woman,  my  lady  mistress,  who  hath  none  but  me  to 
stand  by  her.  Where  she  abides,  I  will  abide.  Her 
cause  shall  be  mine — her  quarrel  mine  so  long  as  I  can 
strike  a  blow,  or  lift  a  spear  as  you  my  father  taught 
me.' 

"  '  And  if  he,  the  evil-doer,  returns  hither,'  the  armourer 
went  on,  '  here  to  Thrieve,'  and  if  (like  a  woman)  she 
forgive  him,  where  will  you  stand?  Will  you  fight 
against  your  own  folk — against  me,  your  father — against 
these,  your  brethren  ?  ' 

"  '  Aye,'  said  Sholto,  very  gravely,  *  if  she,  my  lady, 
who  hath  no  other  hand  to  draw  sword  for  her,  remains, 


DIES    IR^  219 

I,  too,  shall  remain  by  her  side  to  the  last — I  and  mine. 
She  has  been  left  by  one  brother — deceived  by  another ! 
She  shall  have  at  least  one  friend — nay,  Maud  (here  he 
turned  towards  me),  she  shall  have  two!  And  if  it  so 
come  about  as  you  have  said,  which  God  forbid — in  her 
cause,  the  cause  of  the  unfriended,  I  will  even  fight 
against  you,  my  father,  and  against  you,  the  sons  of  my 
mother ! ' 

"  The  old  man  stood  for  a  while  regarding  him  stonily. 
Then  all  swiftly  he  shot  out  his  huge  hairy  hand,  grimed 
with  a  life-time's  handling  of  armour-iron.  Sholto  took 
it,  his  face  also  steady  as  an  anvil. 

"  It  was  a  great  thing,  little  one,  to  see  two  such  men 
front  one  another,  neither  yielding  a  jot.  Then  Malise 
spoke. 

"  *  By  the  Holy  Name,'  he  cried,  '  but  you  are  a  man, 
Sholto!  I  lift  the  curse  I  laid.  You  are  your  father's 
own  son.  But  mind,  if  in  the  shock  of  battle  I  meet  you 
face  to  face,  I  will  strike  and  spare  not — because  that 
you  fight  for  the  betrayer's  cause ! ' 

"  *  I  expect  no  other,'  said  Sholto,  '  and  though  I  know 
the  death  in  it,  I  would  rather  take  your  blow  than  your 
curse.     I  thank  you  for  lifting  that.' 

"  Yet  a  moment  longer  father  and  son  stood  eye  to  eye, 
no  feature  of  either  quivering.  There  was  no  yielding 
anywhere.     Deep  called  to  deep,  and  was  answered. 

"  '  Till  we  meet ! '  said  Malise  the  smith,  suddenly  drop- 
ping his  son's  hand.  But  Sholto  said  nothing.  For  in- 
deed it  was  noways  in  his  heart  to  raise  a  hand  against 
the  father  who  begat  him !  " 

Here  it  was  that,  had  she  been  permitted,  Maud  would 
have  ended  her  narrative.  I  clasped  and  kissed  her  hand 
and  said,  "  There  is  no  one  like  Sholto,  Maud — none  so 
brave  and  loyal  and  true." 

But  she  only  smiled  as  who  would  say,  "  Of  course ! 
It  is  so  written  in  the  Scriptures.  The  stars  have  declared 
it.  It  is  a  law  of  the  Mede  and  of  the  Persian.  I  am 
noways  surprised.  I  have  known  that  and  more  these 
many  years !  How  could  any  think  that  man,  born  of 
woman,  could  think  or  speak  or  act  like  my  Sholto  ?  " 


220  AIAY    :\IARGARET 

But  I  had  a  question  yet  to  ask  which  concerned  another 
than  Sholto — yet  a  McKim. 

"What  of  Laurence?"  I  whispered.  For  indeed  in 
my  dreams  I  had  seen  him  oftentimes  of  late,  and  pkicked 
with  him  the  green  birk  to  wind  about  my  head,  and 
placed  therein  the  red  berries  of  the  rowan,  and  set  whole 
wildernesses  a-bickering  with  w^ater- wheels  and  the  jolly 
flap  of  windmill  sails. 

"  What  should  there  be  of  Laurence  ?  "  said  Maud,  in- 
stantly altering  her  voice  to  the  hollow  sounding  and 
querulous  intonation  wherewith  straightforward  women 
strive  to  put  off  a  question.  But,  being  also  a  woman,  I 
detected  her  in  a  moment. 

"  The  truth  with  me,  Maud,"  I  said,  "  in  this  as  in  all 
else!    On  whose  side  stands  Laurence  in  this  quarrel?" 

"  I  think,"  she  answered,  not  looking  at  me,  "  that  after 
the  things  you  were  witness  of  in  the  kirk-close  of  Bal- 
maghie,  you  have  no  need  to  ask  that  question." 

"  But  just  for  that  reason  I  do  ask  it,"  I  said,  pressing 
her ;  "  tell  me,  Maud,  I  beseech  you !  " 

"  Certes,  Margaret,"  she  made  answer,  "  for  a  sick 
woman  you  have  many  askings.  I  will  tell  you  that 
which  I  do  know.  Laurence  has  given  his  adhesion  to 
the  pact  against  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  but  he  bides  at 
Sweetheart  to  keep  sanctuary  for  you  there  in  time  of 
need.  That  done,  or  out  of  need,  he  will  shed  his  monk- 
ish robes  like  the  husk  of  a  hazel-nut  and  fight  against  his 
house's  enemy  by  his  father's  side !  " 

"Then  Laurence  is  against  us?"  I  could  not  help  say- 
ing with  tears.  "  I  had  not  thought  it  of  him.  Yet  now 
I  remember,  he  never  had  any  true  liking  for  me.  He 
would  not  even  come  to  Thrieve  to  see  me  but  once  or 
twice  during  these  long  years.  If  he  had  cared  at  all, 
he  would  have  come,  being  so  near !  " 

Then  Maud  gave  me  a  curious  look — long  and  piercing, 
as  if  doubting  whether  I  was  not  less  innocent  than  my 
words  implied.  I  understand  it  all  now.  I  did  not  then. 
I  had  so  much  else  to  think  of. 

"  You  mistake,"  she  answered  slowly.  "  Laurence  is 
with  you  as  truly  and  as  fully  as  Sholto.     And  for  that 


DIES    IR.E  221 

reason  he  is  against  James  Douglas,  even  as  his  father 
and  his  brethren  are — of  that  let  there  be  no  doubt !  " 

"But  why — why?"  I  urged.  "Tell  me,  why  is  not 
Laurence  even  as  Sholto?  These  two  have  the  same 
reasons  for  hating  my — for  hating  James  Douglas, 
stands  it  not  so?  If  otherwise,  surely  I  ought  to  be 
told !  " 

Again  Maud  smiled  slowly  and  subtly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "  not  the  same !  " 

"  What  ?  is  not — she  as  much  the  sister  of  Sholto,  as 
she  is  of  Laurence  McKim  ?  " 

"  Of  a  certainty,"  she  said,  "  but " 

"  But  what  ?     Speak  the  truth  to  me,  Maud,  I  bid  you  !  " 

"  Well,  little  one,"  said  Maud,  caressing  and  quieting 
me,  "  do  you  not  understand  that  Sholto  has  had  me,  to 
love  and  to  be  loved  by,  any  time  these  fifteen  years? 
As  to  Laurence — well,  it  is  not  the  same !  " 

She  paused,  and  I  snatched  at  her  gown,  begging  and 
commanding  her  to  go  on.  But  she  would  not,  fearing 
that  she  had  said  too  much,  or  mayhap  had  overtaxed 
my  strength.  Nor  could  I  get  another  word  out  of  her, 
though  I  tried  time  and  again,  but  only  a  sleeping 
draught  to  compose  me,  and  the  quiet  of  the  north- 
looking  room  with  the  curtains  drawn  all  about  the  bed. 

But  ere  Maud  left  me  to  my  sleep  she  murmured  in  my 
ear,  "  Rest  and  grow  strong-,  little  one,  there  are  more 
who  love  you  to  their  heart's  last  pulse-beat  than  you  wot 
of.  And,  as  for  Sholto  and  this  poor  Maud  Lindsay  of 
yours,  they  will  hold  you  safe  through  the  Day  of  Wrath 
which  evil-doing  is  bringing  upon  the  House  of  Douglas, 
or,  if  God  wills  it,  they  will  die  with  you !  " 

Then,  greatly  comforted.  I  scarce  know  why  or  how, 
I  slept  with  Maudie's  hand  in  mine,  and  the  little  Mar- 
celle  on  guard  at  the  door  to  see  that  none  approached 
to  disturb  me  with  so  much  as  the  ring  of  a  halbert  or 
a  hasty  footstep  on  the  stone  corridor. 

For  blessed  indeed  are  they  on  whom  God  bestows  the 
love  of  even  one  friend.  And,  as  for  me,  had  I  not  two  ? 
But  I  wished — oh,  how  I  wished  I  could  have  said  three ! 


CHAPTER    XXX 

DIES  IR.^  II — WITH  GARMENTS  DIED  IN  BLOOD 

It  was  on  an  evening  mild  and  sweet  as  only  (and 
rarely)  late  June  afifords  that  Sholto  and  Maud  had  taken 
me  out  through  the  great  gate  of  Thrieve,  a  little  way 
across  the  Isle,  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  scented  with  the 
gorse  and  broom  of  the  opposite  Balmaghie  shores,  and 
the  more  memorable  fragrance  of  the  white  thorns. 
Which  last  struck  my  heart  with  a  pang  to  think  of  the 
little  house  at  Carlinwark,  under  its  three  sheltering 
thorns  all  desolate — the  love  of  generations  turned  to 
hate,  honourable  service  to  embattled  enmity,  even  my 
Laurence  biding  his  time  to  strike — only  Sholto  with  me 
— and  Maud.  Yet  I  blessed  God  for  these.  Maud's 
gentle  arm  it  was  which  supported  me  as  I  tottered 
towards  the  ford,  turning  to  watch  the  grey  old  castle 
of  the  Douglases  stand  up  against  the  orange  hand's- 
breadth  of  evening  light  in  the  west,  and  to  drink  in  the 
mild  coolness  of  that  mid-summer  season  when  in  Scot- 
land the  sun  stays  out  of  bed  till  within  three  hours  of 
midnight. 

The  three  of  us  stood  talking  of  this  and  that — of  the 
fierce  fighting  about  the  Castle  of  Abercorn,  of  which 
Sholto  had  gotten  private  word,  of  the  Lindsays  and  the 
Crawfords,  Maud's  Highland  kin,  who  were  hard  at  it 
fighting  for  the  Douglas  in  the  North — chiefly,  as  she 
herself  allowed,  because  their  enemy  Huntly  was  of  the 
King's  party.  And  in  especial  we  spoke  of  the  tide  of 
war  that  ever  seemed  to  be  driving  nearer  and  nearer  to 
us  in  our  high  and  strong  fortalice  of  Thrieve,  the  ulti- 
mate and  natural  stronghold  of  the  Douglas  race. 

But,  as  always,  Sholto  and  Maud  strove  to  draw  me 
from  the  subject,  telling  me  of  the  children,  of  their  sweet 
sayings  and  brave  doings — how  that  Marcelle  could  read 


DIES    IR^    II  223 

Latin  as  well  as  any  Mess  John — almost,  indeed,  as  well 
as  Laurence  himself — how  the  twins  fought  fierce  battles. 
for  which  their  mother  did  soundly  thwack  them,  but 
which  she  blamed  their  father  with  secretly  encouraging 
— of  gentle  Ulric  and  David  of  the  sturdy  legs,  just 
beginning  to  be  a  care  as  these  carried  him  to  the  dan- 
gerous pool-edges  of  Dee  and  dark  peaty  deeps  of  the 
castle  ditch. 

But  for  me,  though  I  knew  their  loving  meaning,  all 
would  not  do.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  Thrieve 
thus,  as  it  were  from  without — the  place  where  I  had 
loved  and  given  myself  without  reserve,  the  place  where 
I  had  been  heartbroken !  And  there,  beyond,  clear  upon 
its  guarding  ridge  (on  which  the  sun  was  spending  his 
last  beams),  was  the  place  where  he  lay,  the  son  of  one 
Earl,  the  name-child  of  another  greater  and  truer — yet 
(let  me  say  it)  one  not  easier  to  love. 

And  as  I  looked  this  way  and  that,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
old  dimming  smoke  began  to  rise  out  of  the  east,  behind 
Carlinwark  and  Kelton,  spreading  south  till  the  bold 
ridge  of  Ben  Gairn  melted  behind  it.  Whirling  and  cir- 
cling it  came,  like  a  dust-storm  wind-driven  along  a  road 
by  which  many  horsemen  have  passed  hasting  to  battle. 

Yet  there  was  one  thing  strange  to  me.  The  smoke 
was  no  longer,  as  formerly,  black,  like  the  reek  of  hell. 
But  rather  of  a  purplish  colour,  like  the  ascending  incense 
of  some  sacred  service  in  a  great  cathedral,  such  as  I 
had  seen  in  France,  at  Chartres,  at  Orleans,  and  in  the 
long  solemn  aisles  of  Notre  Dame. 

All  the  same  it  was  there  without  a  doubt,  whirling  dun 
across  the  green  fields,  masking  the  clear  compassing 
waters,  and  even  (so  it  appeared  to  me)  making  my  eyes 
smart  with  some  bitter  odour  in  the  nostrils.  Yet  Sholto 
and  Maud  prattled  on  all  unconscious,  which,  when  I 
had  observed,  I  knew  that  the  appearance  was  solely  for 
me,  sent  for  my  sake,  perhaps  because  of  the  wickedness 
and  lack  of  forgiveness  I  had  been  cherishing  in  my 
heart. 

The  sun  sank  swiftly,  as  if  pulled  under  out  of  the  way, 
like  a  child's  puppet  of  which  its  owner  has  grown  tired. 


224  MAY    MARGARET 

There  was  a  fear  on  me,  and  I  wished  it  to  remain  above 
the  horizon,  so  that  it  might  be  day.  Yet  it  would  not 
bide  a  moment  longer  for  all  my  wishing,  but  with  one 
great  seven-league  bound  the  twilight  strode  across  the 
earth.  There  was  an  after-glowing  of  sunset — I  could 
see,  but  all  made  dim  and  misty  for  me  by  that  strange 
upboiling  of  purple  spume. 

Nevertheless,  I  knew  the  thing  existed  not  at  all  save 
in  my  own  head.  But  all  the  same  I  saw  it,  and  its  acrid 
bite  (as  of  fresh-spilt  blood)  stung  my  nostrils. 

"  God  out  of  his  quiet  heaven  help  poor  harassed, 
thrice-driven,  tormented  Margaret  Douglas !  "  I  prayed 
deep  down  in  my  heart's  heart.  "  Why  are  all  these  things 
heaped  on  a  girl  like  me?  Surely  there  are  backs  more 
stout  for  the  burden?  Surely  sins  more  sinful  than  mine 
to  be  expiated  ?     Why  is  this  also  laid  on  me  ?  " 

And  yet  in  some  wise  it  was  merciful.  The  veiling 
mist  was  also  on  my  spirit,  whirling  and  benumbing.  If 
I  had  been  possessed  of  my  old  easy  careless  sanity,  I 
could  not  have  borne  that  which  was  about  to  befall  me. 

"  Come  your  ways  home,  Margaret.  It  grows  late. 
The  dews  begin  to  fall !  "  said  Maud  gently.  And  on  the 
other  side  her  husband  drew  nearer  me  till  he  could 
touch  my  shoulder  and  waist.  I  know  now  that  he  only 
waited  Maud's  signal  to  take  me  in  his  arms  and  carry 
me  within,  even  as  he  would  have  done  for  Marcelle  or 
little  Ulric  if  they  had  gotten  a  hurt  at  play  upon  the 
leas. 

For  so  was  I  cared  for  in  those  days — love  striving 
vainly  by  easements  of  the  body  to  minister  to  the  deeper 
hurts  of  my  soul. 

But  as  I  looked  towards  the  Fords  of  Dee  there  came 
upon  me  overwhelmingly  the  feeling  that  Something  or 
Someone  was  approaching  by  way  of  the  Hiding  Hill — 
coming  on  my  account  too.  I  could  not  see.  The  purple 
mist  boiled  and  tossed  tempestuously  before  my  eyes, 
so  that  even  Sholto  and  Maud  seemed  to  dissolve  and 
resolve,  alternate,  to  pass  and  change  even  when  I 
gripped  them  by  the  arms. 

"There — there!    It     comes — yonder!"     I     whispered, 


DIES    IR^    II  225 

^'  down  the  Hiding  Hill !  I  can  see  it  pass  Earl  Wil- 
liam's Rock,  where  he  used  to  turn  and  kiss  his  hand ! 
Do  you  not  see  it,  Maud  ?     Do  you  not  see  it,  Sholto?  " 

But  Maud  made  answer  only,  "  I  see  nothing,  dearest. 
It  is  but  your  overwrought  fancy.  Come  within!  It 
waxes  chill.     Take  her  up.  Sholto !  " 

But  Sholto  with  the  soldier's  ear,  quickened  to  catch 
far-off  sounds,  moved  his  hand  slightly. 

"  Hush,  Maud,"  he  murmured,  "  perhaps  our  dear  lady 
is  right.  It  seems  that  I  do  hear  something;  wait  but 
one  minute !  " 

But  I,  for  whom  IT  came,  could  both  hear  and  see 
clearly,  in  spite  of  that  false  boiling  mist  that  was  in  my 
head,  or  behind  the  pupils  of  mv  eyes. 

"  It  is  coming,"  I  cried.     "  Yonder,  Maud !  " 

I  pointed  with  my  hand. 

"Do  you  not  see  it?"  I  almost  screamed  in  terror. 
"  Yonder — by  the  blasted  thorn  tree  on  the  nether  slope. 
It  is  shaped  like  a  giant,  all  dark,  and  rides  on  a  white 
horse  tached  with  blood.  Ah,  let  us  go  in  now.  I  fear ! 
I  fear !     Take  me  !     Keep  me  !     Let  It  not  come  near !  " 

IMaud  caught  me  in  her  arms ;  at  the  same  moment,  as 
if  by  instinct,  Sholto  drew  his  sword  and  advanced  a 
pace  in  front  of  us. 

"  Stand  back,  Sholto ! "  I  cried  in  yet  deadlier  terror, 
"  out  of  the  way  for  Maudie's  sake  and  that  of  the  babes  ! 
Why  should  you  also  die?  It  is  no  mortal  born  of  mor- 
tal— I  tell  you,  but  Death  riding  on  his  pale  horse !  And 
he  comes  for  me — for  me.  Let  me  go,  Maud.  Let  me  go  ! 
I  am  stronger  now.  I  had  fear — I  own  it — foolish  fear. 
But  it  is  past  now.  I  am  glad,  glad!  I  shall  see  my 
babe — oh,  let  me  go !  " 

And  but  for  Maud's  strong  arm  thrown  about  me,  I 
would  have  run  forward  to  meet  and  welcome  That 
which  was  coming  toward  me,  through  the  dark  waters 
of  the  ford. 

As  for  Sholto,  he  stood  still  in  the  way,  his  sword  ready 
in  his  hand.  And  the  figure,  looming  huge  and  dark 
through  the  blinding  smother  of  the  reek  and  the  gather- 
ing dark,  came  splashing  through  the  ford.     I  strove  to 


226  MAY    MARGARET 

cry  out,  but  my  tongue  clave  instead,  stick-dry,  to  the 
roof  of  my  mouth. 

But  Sholto,  duty  making  him  strong,  hailed  the  intruder 
like  a  sentinel  on  guard,  "  Who  comes  to  Thrieve  so 
late  ?     Stand  still,  or  reckon  with  Sholto  McKim  !  " 

But  the  tall  shape  came  on,  wordless,  making  no  answer 
— incognizant,  as  it  were,  of  mortal  speech,  reckless  of 
mortal  threat,  careless  of  life  or  death. 

Through  the  gloom  it  loomed  up  like  a  man  in  dark 
armour — as,  indeed,  I  had  seen  long  ago — a  man  riding 
on  a  white  horse,  all  splashed  and  furrowed  with  running 
blood,  some  dried  and  dark,  some  as  if  it  had  oozed 
fresh  from  between  the  joints  of  armour. 

Figure  liker  unto  Death  on  his  pale  horse  with  Hell 
following  after,  saw  n*;  man  ever.  But  even  as  on  the 
night  when  I  saw  the  Star  I  wa.-=  miraculously  sustained, 
so  now  in  some  measure  the  eddying  mist  surged  less 
dense  and  dun,  thinning  out  so  that  by  turning  my  head 
I  could  see,  as  it  were,  a  little  to  right  and  left,  though  not 
yet  evenly  before  me. 

Out  of  the  river,  up  the  steep  and  stony  bank,  climbed 
the  vision.  But  not  noiselessly — far  otherwise  indeed. 
At  Thrieve  they  heard  the  horse  snorting  as  it  made  the 
last  spring  to  land,  and  the  rattle  of  accoutrement  as 
the  rider  swayed  on  the  saddle. 

The  white  horse,  its  red  splashes  but  little  cleansed  by 
the  water  of  the  ford,  now  stood  trembling  in  every  limb. 
The  rider,  helmless  and  pallid,  sat  silent  as  if  dumb  and 
unconscious — Death  himself  not  more  awful ! 

"  Keep  us,  God  in  his  Heaven,  lest  our  eyes  be  blasted !  " 
I  tried  to  murmur. 

But  the  sword  of  Sholto  McKim  clattered  from  his 
hand  upon  the  shingle  of  the  water  edge. 

"  Help  me,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  James  Douglas — come  home 
to  Thrieve  alone,  wounded,  stricken  unto  death !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

DIES   IR^   III — THE   FIRST  DAY   OF  THE   WRATH 

Aye,  truly,  it  was  James  Douglas,  all  incarnadine  with 
the  blood  of  battle,  his  own  and  that  which  his  right  arm 
had  shed.  His  splintered  sword  was  glued  to  his  hand, 
the  finely  netted  reins  were  slashed  and  cut.  His  good 
horse  had  found  its  way  to  Thrieve  wholly  of  its  own 
accord,  for  its  master  was  far  past  speech  or  guiding 
motion.  How  he  had  sustained  himself  through  the 
dumb  agonies  of  that  ride  God  only  knows ;  for  James 
Douglas,  who  did  the  deed,  could  not  tell,  and,  indeed, 
never  knew. 

Without  a  glance  at  me,  without  a  moment  of  hesita- 
tion, Sholto  received  his  master  into  his  arms,  laid  him 
bareheaded  in  his  hacked  mail  upon  the  grass,  sprinkled 
the  clear  water  of  the  river  upon  him,  while  Maud  gently 
disengaged  the  englued  hilt  and  shattered  blade  from 
his  wounded  right  hand. 

At  the  first  sight  of  him  the  revolt  of  an  intolerable 
disgust  seemed  to  engulf  my  spirit.  The  reek  swirled 
thicker,  more  blinding.  Acrid,  hateful  odours  swept 
across  me  in  the  dun,  drifting  spume.  For  one  awful 
moment  I  felt  that  I  could  take  his  own  knife  and  slay 
James  Douglas  as  he  lay  there — that  is,  if  he  were  not 
dead  already. 

The  next,  clear  and  lambent  against  the  last  vestige  of 
the  sunset,  glowed  the  kirk-ridge  so  dear  to  me,  that  little 
kirk  aboon  Dee  Water  where  our  baby  lay.  There 
leaped  a  prayer  up  into  my  heart : 

"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  also  forgive  those  who  have 
trespassed  against  us !  " 

And  I  stooped  to  kiss  his  brow,  in  token  that  I  also 
was  not  outside  the  forgiveness  of  God.     Ere,  however, 

227 


228  MAY    MARGARET 

my  lips  touched  his  flesh,  there  came  to  me  a  pang  of  the 
old  recoiling.  I  stopped,  quivering.  For  a  moment  my 
heart  hung  uncertain.  Then,  seeing  a  lock  of  hair  cling 
dankly  to  his  broad  white  forehead,  I  kissed  that  hastily, 
and  stood  erect. 

Then  the  very  peace  of  God  seemed  to  visit  me.  The 
pale  gold  of  a  saint's  aureole  glowed  behind  the  little 
kirk  where  the  babe  rested  beneath  the  altar,  under  the 
coffer  which  holds  the  holv  bread. 

Then  as  they  bore  him  in,  speechless,  gashed  out  of  all 
cognisance,  on  the  bier  which  Sholto  had  hastily  caused 
them  make  out  of  bridge-spars  and  birchen  branches,  I 
walked  beside.  And  a  Voice  seemed  to  cry  in  my  ear, 
"  Better  than  blood  spilt — better  than  vengeance  achieved 
— better  than  just  hatred  justly  pursued,  is  the  forgiving 
of  sins — for  love's  sake — for  Christ's  sake  !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

Yet  James  Douglas  was  not  dead — no,  nor  yet  even 
wounded  to  the  death.  He  had  fought  a  great  fight 
somewhere  or  somehow.  More  than  that  there  was  none 
to  tell  us,  as  for  ten  hours  he  lay  unconscious  between 
death  and  life.  But  Sholto,  who  was,  among  other 
things,  a  cunning  leech  (so  far  at  least  as  the  wounds 
and  contusions  of  battle  were  concerned),  faithfully  cared 
for  his  master  with  IMaud  at  his  elbow,  holding  lukewarm 
water  in  a  bowl,  and  a  bundle  of  seventeen  hundred  linen 
torn  into  the  finest  shreds.  Me  they  would  not  permit 
to  do  anything  for  James — though  God  knows  they  might 
have  done  with  all  safety.  For  I  had  overcome  that 
which  had  been  making  a  canker  of  my  heart.  Hatred 
should  no  more  have  dominion  over  me. 

Still  Sholto  could  not  be  expected  to  know  that,  though 
]\Iaud  Lindsay  ought  to  have  known.  So  I  waited,  still 
and  patient,  while  they  dressed  the  wounds.  There  was 
a  terrible  gash  across  his  head,  where  his  helmet  had  been 
broken  by  the  blow  of  some  mighty  sword.  When  this 
was  dressed  Sholto  turned  his  attention  to  the  nobly- 
formed  white  body  of  him,  moistening  and  washing  away 
the  stains  of  battle  in  the  clear,  soft  Dee  water  with  the 
shredded  bunch  of  fine  linen.     Then  at  the  place  where 


DIES    IR^   III  229 

the  gorget  fits  upon  the  shoulder  blade,  between  that  and 
the  junction  with  the  body  annour,  Sholto,  gently  soften- 
ing and  touching,  came  upon  something  hard,  driven  in 
forcefully  against  the  shoulder  blade. 

With  minute  skill  and  caution  he  worked  it  out,  when, 
lo !  the  point  of  a  pike  appeared,  or  perhaps  the  broken 
tip  of  a  Lochaber  axe. 

Sholto  looked  at  the  fragment  attentively. 

"  That  is  my  father's  own  weapon !  "  he  said  gravely 
and  softly. 

"  God  help  us  all,  what  then  hath  befallen?  "  I  cried. 

He  held  in  his  hand  the  steel  splinter,  shaped  to  a  point 
with  a  curious  swirl  like  a  half-filled  spindle  of  yarn, 
quite  distinctive  and  peculiar. 

"  I  know  my  father's  forging  and  his  private  mark 
under  the  peak,"  he  answered  me.  "  It  was  Malise 
McKim  who  drave  that  stroke  which  came  near  to  slay 
James  Douglas !  " 

And,  as  if  responsive  to  the  power  of  the  name  of  his 
adversary,  the  wounded  man  on  the  bed  turned  as  if 
pain-twitched,  opened  his  eyes  without  seeing  any  of  us 
who  were  in  the  room,  and  equally  without  knowing 
where  he  was.  He  jerked  his  bandaged  hand  upwards 
stiffly. 

"  Come  and  fight  with  me,  Malise  McKim,"  he  cried, 
"  to  the  death — to  the  death-grip  let  it  be !  Let  no  man 
come  between !  " 

Then,  as  he  lay  tossing,  he  cried  again,  "  Lead  her  off 
the  field,  I  tell  you !  Take  her  to  sanctuary — Archie, 
Hugh,  Little  John,  do  you  hear  ?  I  am  the  Douglas ! 
Do  as  I  bid  you !  " 

We  looked  at  one  another  in  wonderment.  This  was 
a  riddle  we  could  not  tmravel. 

"  Either  the  sword-stroke  on  the  brain  or  the  axe-point 

in    his    shoulder   hath    touched    his    reason,"    whispered 

Sholto  McKim.     "  His  mind  wanders  !  " 

"  Not  so,"  said  Maud  Lindsay.     "  Give  him  a  sleeping 

draught — bind  up  his  wounds  with  a  plaister  of  healing 

herbs,  and  to-morrow  we  shall  know." 

"  Let  me  watch  by  his  bedside,"  I  said  beseechingly  to 


230  MAY    MARGARET 

Maud.  But  this  they  would  not  permit,  saying  that  with 
so  strong  a  man,  and  one  so  sore  wounded,  nursing  was 
men's  work.  However,  being  well  aware  that  I  would 
sleep  none,  I  caused  Sholto  to  promise  that  if  there 
was  any  change,  or  any  return  to  consciousness,  he 
would  call  me.  If  he  were  yet  alive,  and  the  reason  left 
in  him,  I  had  a  question  to  ask  of  James  Douglas. 

He  slept  all  that  night,  and  (Sholto  refraining  from 
calling  me)  I  slept  also,  though  heavily  and  without 
refreshment.  I  was  waiting,  I  suppose,  and  felt  the  sus- 
pense  even  in  my  dreams. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  next  day  Sholto  came  to  my 
room  and  knocked.  I  had  stayed  there  all  day  behind 
closed  bars.  Maud  and  her  husband  in  the  sick  chamber 
did  not  need  me.  The  babes,  with  their  innocent  chatter, 
would  have  fretted  me  beyond  bearing. 

"  My  Lady  Margaret,"  said  Sholto,  "  for  a  time  at 
least  the  Earl  James  is  returned  to  himself.  His  desire 
is  to  see  you." 

The  young  captain  of  Thrieve  spoke  with  much  dignity, 
almost  officially  indeed,  as  if  washing  his  hands  of  any 
responsibility  in  the  matter. 

"  I  will  come  to  my  lord !  "  I  answered  him,  as  curtly. 
And  forthwith  made  me  ready. 

The  chamber  in  which  James  Douglas  lay,  swathed 
white  in  manifold  bandages,  was  darkened.  As  I  en- 
tered, Maud  rose  to  go  out.     But  I  stopped  her. 

"  Abide,  dear  friends  both,"  I  said,  "  henceforth  what 
my  Lord  James  says  to  me,  he  says  equally  to  you !  " 

But  when  James  Douglas  turned  upon  me  his  eyes, 
bright  with  fever,  pain-stricken  and  pitiful,  my  heart, 
wavering,  well-nigh  melted  within  me.  But  there  was 
my  question  to  ask.  He  murmured  something  of  which 
none  of  us  could  catch  the  meaning. 

"  He  is  just  awaking !  "  whispered  Sholto.  "  By-and- 
by  it  will  come  clearer." 

James  Douglas  motioned  me  to  sit  down  beside  him. 
The  bandaged  hand  in  fitful  motion  again  looked  won- 
drously   pitiful.     But   there   was   the   question,     I   bent 


DIES    IR^    III  231 

towards  him.  His  burning  eyes  dimmed  as  if  the  reek 
had  drifted  across  them  again. 

"  Where  is  she?"  I  whispered.  These  words  and  no 
more. 

He  did  not  affect  to  misunderstand.     He  knew. 

"  She  is  dead!"  he  murmured. 

I  stood  erect  with  a  strange  buzzing  in  my  ears.  Behind 
me  I  could  hear  Maud's  sudden  gasping  moan.  Then 
Sholto's  "  Thank  God !  "  half  fierce,  half  heart-breaking. 

But  once  more  James  was  gone  from  us,  his  spirit 
again  eclipsed.  As  a  drowning  man  comes  to  the  surface 
to  wave  a  farewell,  so  his  soul  seemed  to  have  floated 
up  merely  to  give  me  this  one  signal.  But  Sholto  knew 
better. 

"  A  cup  of  that  white  wine,  the  Burgundian,  Maud — 
quick,  I  tell  you !  "  he  said,  in  an  agitated  whisper. 

His  strong  arm  went  about  his  master.  It  lifted  him 
gradually  till  James  was  half  raised  from  his  couch.  He 
moaned  a  little,  the  new  position  changing  the  set  of  his 
wounds. 

"  Drink,  my  lord,  drink !  "  said  Sholto,  loud  in  his  ear. 
And  at  the  word  the  spirit,  far-wandering,  or  perhaps 
lingering  near,  heard  and  returned.  James  Douglas 
drank.  In  a  little  while  he  opened  his  eyes  and  found  me 
sitting  by  the  bed,  at  the  foot.  For  Maud  and  Sholto 
kept  the  head  on  either  side,  "  to  be  ready  to  render 
service,"  they  said. 

"  I — have — come !  I — alone  of  all !  "  he  said  slowly 
and  painfully.  "  We  are  broken,  destroyed,  we  Doug- 
lases— swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth !  " 

As  he  continued  to  speak  the  wine  began  to  put  in  its 
work.  A  faint  flush  dusked  his  cheek.  He  lifted  his 
hand  to  give  emphasis. 

"  The  Red  Douglas  hath  put  down  the  Black !  "  he  went 
on  more  forcibly.  "  Even  as  He  hath  dealt  with  me, 
may  God  deal  with  the  traitor  Douglases — George  of 
Angus  and  his  cousin  Dalkeith,  who  have  turned  against 
their  father's  house  !  " 

Sholto  bent  over  him,  forcing  him  gently  back  on  the 
pillow. 


2Z2  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Hush,  my  lord,"  he  whispered ;  "  who  talks  of  the 
Douglas  of  the  Black  being  put  down  while  Thrieve 
Castle  stands,  and  Sholto  McKim  is  the  captain  there- 
of?" 

For  the  first  time  James  seemed  to  recognise  him. 
Again  he  started  up  on  his  elbow. 

"  God  curse  you,  Sholto  McKim  !  What  do  you  here  ?  " 
he  cried  fiercely.  "  Am  I  then  in  the  hands  of  yet  more 
traitors  ?  Have  I  come  home  to  die,  only  to  find  Thrieve 
in  the  hands  of  mine  enemy  ?  " 
At  this  came  a  look  of  his  father  upon  the  face  of  Sholto 
McKim,  the  first  I  had  ever  seen  there. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  am  no  traitor,  neither  am  I  a 
friend  of  James  Douglas.  But  so  long  as  the  Lady  Mar- 
garet remains  in  this  her  castle,  I  will  remain  to  defend 
it.  I  am  her  servant.  According  to  her  sole  word  I 
will  come  and  go." 

"  Then  you  have  separated  yourself  from  your  familv  in 
this  matter,  Sholto  McKim?"  demanded  James,  won- 
dering, perhaps,  at  something  too  high  for  him  to  com- 
prehend. 

Sholto  bowed.  It  appeared  no  matter  of  credit  to  him. 
He  did  not  wish  to  waste  words;  but  James  Douglas 
persisted. 

"  Are  you  then  for  me  or  against  me?  "  he  cried,  again 
raising  himself  on  his  elbow.  "  I  bid  you  tell  me !  " 
"  Neither  for  you  nor  yet  against  you,"  answered  Sholto 
with  swift  decision.  "  I  am  for  my  liege  lady,  my  dear 
mistress  in  all  things.  In  that  in  \Vhich  she  is  for  you, 
I  and  mine  are  for  you.  In  that  wherein  she  is  against 
you,  I  am  against  you !  " 

"  But  when  the  besiegers  come  to  Thrieve,  as  they 
surely  will,  on  which  side  will  you  fight?" 

"  For  whomsoever  my  lady  wills,"  answered  Sholto.  "  I 
am  her  buckler,  so  long  as  she  hath  need  of  me.  But  if 
I  go  forth  to  battle,  fear  not  any  treachery.  My  father 
will  smite  me  even  as  he  hath  smitten  you — only  more 
sure  and  to  the  death!  He  hath  sworn  and  I  accepted 
his  oath ! " 
The  face  of  James  Douglas  darkened. 


DIES    IR^   III  233 

"Then  you  know?"  he  cried,  "you  have  heard  the 
tale  of  Arkinholm  ?  " 

We  looked  at  one  another  and  James  Douglas  looked  at 
us.  It  was  the  first  time  we  had  heard  that  name  of 
fear  and  fate.     Our  countenances  answered  for  us. 

"  No,  you  are  true  folk,"  he  said,  "  you  have  not  heard." 

He  heaved  himself  up  with  a  certain  pride. 

"  Now,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  can  sit  up  and  tell  you. 
There  is  no  shame — in  that!"  He  added  the  last  words 
as  if  recollecting  himself. 

"  I  have  the  strength — give  me  another  cup  of  wine. 
I  am  drained  to  the  white  like  any  calf.  There !  Now 
I  can  speak  of  Arkinholm,  and  tell  how  the  Douglases 
of  the  Black  can  die !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

DIES   IR^    IV — HOW    THE   SUN    WENT   DOWN 

This  is  James  Douglas's  story  of  the  last  stand  made 
by  the  Douglases  of  the  Black,  on  the  green  river  crofts 
of  Arkinholm,  by  the  Esk  Water,  in  Annandale. 

"  No — I  bid  you  not  to  touch  me,  Margaret.  Not 
now,  I  am  not  worthy.  I  am  a  man  of  fibre  too  coarse 
for  you  or  any  woman  like  you.  Maud  Lindsay  there 
should  draw  aside  from  me  her  garment's  hem.  She 
should  take  away  her  little  Marcelle  from  off  the  green 
down  there,  lest  these  eyes  should  light  upon  her  un- 
seemly, this  breath  of  mine  defile  the  pure  air  she 
breathes ! 

"  But  with  men  it  is  other.  With  men  I  can  speak  face 
to  face,  and  if  need  be,  hand  to  hand.  To  them  I 
am  answerable.  I  have  answered  and  I  will  answer 
again ! 

"  But  it  was  of  Arkinholm  that  I  would  speak.  Not 
long  time  I  have,  lest  my  wounds  break  out  afresh,  or 
the  wheels  in  my  head  whirl  backwards  again.  You  have 
heard — you  must  have  heard  how  we  were  beaten  in  the 
north — how  Douglas  Castle,  Lochindorb,  and  Abercorn 
were  taken  one  by  one.  The  lads  fought  hard  and  well 
— aye,  like  Douglases  and  men — while  I,  in  England, 
was  striving  to  get  the  King  to  help  me  retake  my  castles 
and  enter  again  upon  that  which  was  mine  own. 

"  But  Henry  of  Lancaster,  being  the  man  he  is,  could 
not  be  satisfied  to  render  a  gentleman  service  and  take 
therefor  the  consideration  of  a  gentleman. 

"  He  sat  niffering  and  argle-bargling  with  James  Doug- 
las as  if  he  had  been  a  Crichton  or  some  other  dyke-side 
vermin.  I  must,  forsooth,  so  he  said,  give  him  the  pick 
of  my  castles  to  set  English  garrisons  in.  I  must  sur- 
render the  Border  peels,  the  Annandale  holds,  Avondale, 

234 


DIES    IRJE    IV  235 

Douglasdale,  Eskdale — last  and  chiefest,  Thrieve  .  .  . 
that  they  might  be  filled  to  the  brim  with  English 
pock-puddings,  drinking  beer,  twanging  bows,  and 
calling  us  no  better  than  lousy  Scots  and  rough-footed 
reivers ! 

"  '  Your  Majesty,'  so  I  answered  the  poor  silly  Henry, 
who  had  Somerset  standing  behind  to  prompt  him,  *  you 
mistake  your  man,  my  Lord  of  England.  I  am  a  Doug- 
las, and  though  to  go  back  to  my  own  country  alone  is 
surely  to  die,  I  would  rather  die  with  all  my  house — I 
would  rather  see,  of  all  my  castles  and  fortresses,  not 
one  stone  left  upon  another,  than  that  any  soldier  of 
England  should  hold  one  foot  of  Scottish  soil ! ' 

"  Then  I  saw  Somerset  smile  meaningly,  as  one  who 
would  say,  '  What  do  you  here  then  ? '  And  him  I 
answered,  '  If  my  Lord  of  Somerset  will  come  out  with 
me  into  the  fields  for  half  an  hour,  I  will  better  inform 
him  as  to  the  exactitude  of  my  meaning.' 

"  So  I  came  back  to  Annandale  and  summoned  my 
brothers  to  meet  me  at  the  Johnstone's  Tower.  They 
came  from  Douglasdale,  from  Straven,  and  the  North — 
those  that  were  true — my  brothers,  every  man  of  them, 
Archibald  of  Murray,  and  Hugh  of  Ormond,  and  staunch 
Little  John.     Not  one  was  a-wanting !  " 

"  And  why?  "  said  Sholto,  his  voice  of  a  sudden  net  and 
dry,  as  the  rattling  of  castanets.  "  Why  did  not  your 
lordship  summon  your  men  from  Thrieve?  Were  any 
that  came  with  your  brothers  better  soldiers  than  the 
five  hundred  you  have  here  ?  " 

At  this  the  face  of  James  Douglas  paled  and  flushed 
alternate.  Sholto  watched  him  closely,  and  not  Sholto 
alone. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  at  last,  turning  in  his  bed  with  a 
grimace  of  pain,  "  it  was  a  far  cry — and  I  knew  not " 

"  Nay,"  said  Sholto,  "  it  was  not  so  far  as  to  Avondale 
— not  so  far  as  to  Moray — not  so  far  as  to  Wigton.  Tell 
me  why  you  sent  not  the  gathering  cry  to  Thrieve,  my 
Lord  Earl  ?  " 

But  it  was  a  man  who  questioned  James  Douglas,  and 
at  the  anger  in  Sholto's  voice  the  sick  man  gathered  him- 


236  MAY    MARGARET 

self,  tossing  his  head  like  the  war-horse  that  scents  the 
battle  from  afar.  I  think  for  the  moment  he  had  quite 
forgotten  me.  He  answered  as  he  might  have  answered 
Malise  McKim.  For  of  courage  of  that  kind  James 
Douglas  had  no  lack. 

"  Your  sister  was  with  me !  "  he  said  briefly. 

"  I  thought  you  said  she  was  dead,  and  I  thanked  God, 
my  Lord  Earl,"  returned  Sholto  with  further  challenge 
in  his  voice. 

James  moved  his  hand  feebly. 

'*  Ah,  for  such  speech  betwixt  you  and  me,  my  good 
Sir  Sholto,  you  must  e'en  wait  some  while.  I  have  dis- 
cussed the  matter  with  one  of  your  house  already.  As  he 
left  me,  I  am  not  yet  ready  for  the  next !  " 

"  But,"  said  Sholto  more  gently,  "  as  I  understood 
your  first  spoken  words — Magdalen,  my  sister,  was 
dead." 

Again  the  unwounded  left  hand  moved  with  a  kind  of 
deprecation  not  unpitiful. 

"  Abide,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  weariness,  "  I  will  tell 
you  all ! — Where  was  I  when — when  you  garred  me 
think — of — herf  " 

I  sat  at  the  bed  foot  listening  in  a  strange  quiet.  It 
seemed  to  be  of  another  woman's  concerns  that  I  was 
hearing.  My  heart,  as  it  were,  had  grown  numb  and 
frozen,  tingling  too,  but  not  with  pain — more  as  if  in 
sympathy  with  the  pain  of  some  other.  I  was  listening 
to  a  tale  such  as  I  had  heard  when  the  troubadours  came 
and  sang  to  ladies  at  the  broidery  in  dear  sunny  France, 
or  in  Scotland  when  a  minstrel  wandering  to  Thrieve 
stood  below  the  salt,  chanting  his  dolorous  ditty  and 
thawing  the  icicles  out  of  his  beard  with  the  mulled 
wine. 

"  Ah,"  said  Sholto,  "  tell  on,  then,  my  lord — that  is, 
when  you  can — when  you  will.  We  can  wait  your 
pleasure." 

"  A  cup  of  Burgundy !  "  cried  James  again.  "  Nay,  let 
me  have  it,  it  will  do  me  no  harm.  I  tell  you,  man,  there 
is  no  blood  left  in  me.  Ah,  that  warms!  Ill  for  the 
fever  of  the  wounds,  you  say?     Nay,  Sir  Sholto,  and  if 


DIES    IR^   IV  237 

it  were — why,  what  great  matter?  The  sooner  under 
sod — where " 

Sholto  poured  another  full  tankard  of  the  wine  of 
Nuits.  The  Earl  drank  it  at  a  draught,  as  in  old  days, 
flinging  his  head  up  to  take  the  strong  vintage  down, 
and  dusting  the  drops  from  his  short  crisp  beard  with 
something  of  his  old  careless  grace. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  finds  its  way  to  a  man's  heart, 
even  if  it  makes  the  blood  to  flow  and  the  green  wounds 
to  pinch  somewhat  shrewdly.  Now  I  can  tell  you  all, 
and  after  I  have  told  you.  Sir  Sholto,  I  will  beseech  you, 
as  King  Saul  did  his  armour-bearer,  that  you  slay  me 
with  my  own  sword." 

"  I  was  never  your  armour-bearer,  my  Lord  Earl,"  said 
Sholto,  "  but  (as  I  think)  already  a  knight  when  first 
we  met.  Yet  it  is  recalled  to  me  that  when  his  armour- 
bearer  refused,  Saul  did  more  and  better !  " 

"  As  to  that,  we  shall  see,"  said  James.  "  They  fought 
for  me,  these  true  brothers,  and  are  dead !  One  by  one 
they  fell,  and  I — am  alive  in  Thrieve !  Yet  I  have  never 
yet  been  called  coward.  Only  when  all  was  lost,  when 
Arkinholm  was  black  with  dead  bodies  scattered  among 
the  crushed  daisies  and  dimpled  among  the  green  grass, 
when  Esk  Water  ran  red,  and  the  Douglases  were  broken 
— then,  wending  my  way  out  of  the  press  my  horse 
brought  me  hither,  knowing  nothing.  Tell  me  how  I 
came,  Sholto !     I  would  know." 

"  Why,  like  yourself,  my  Lord  Earl,"  said  Sholto,  who, 
being  a  man,  liked  a  man  to  be  manlike.  "  Your  sword 
broken  in  your  hand,  reeling  in  your  saddle,  wounded  as 
it  seemed  unto  the  death.  Tlie  steel  point  that  smote  you 
still  in  your  shoulder.  Thus  did  you  come  home  to 
Thrieve !  " 

The  Lord  James  sighed  a  sigh  of  content.  It  was  his 
form  of  conscience,  and  so  far  he  was  satisfied.  He  lay 
for  a  while  with  his  eyes  closed.  Then  suddenly  and  as 
if  seeing  a  vision  he  brake  out,  his  voice  stronger  than 
before. 

"  They  came  as  I  tell  you — Archibald  from  the  north, 
and  with  him  Hugh,  who  had  threshed  the  Percies  at 


238  MAY    MARGARET 

Sark  as  corn  is  threshed  in  a  barn.  From  Wigton  came 
Little  John — all  with  their  men  behind  them.  As  for  me 
I  came  from  England,  and  brought  with  me  but  one — 
and  she  a  woman ! 

"  Nay,  sit  still,  and  hear  it  this  once,  Margaret !  Per- 
haps after  that  you  may  be  in  better  case  to  forgive.  At 
any  rate  hear  it  now  ! 

"  I  would  have  left  her  in  sanctuary  in  England,  and 
did  so  at  Carlisle.  Yet  stay  behind  she  would  not,  but 
followed  after — aye,  even  to  Arkinholm,  to  the  last  mus- 
ter of  the  Douglases  of  the  Black.  I  begged  of  my 
brothers,  Archie  and  Hughie  and  Little  John,  to  take  her 
again  to  sanctuary.  But  she  gat  them  on  her  side,  being 
determined  to  abide  wnth  the  host. 

"  In  the  strath  of  the  Esk  they  closed  upon  us,  trapping 
us  on  either  side — Douglases  to  take  Douglases — George 
of  Angus  on  one  flank  and  Dalkeith  on  the  other.  They 
had  the  King's  men  with  them  too,  Crichtons  and  Stew- 
arts and  men  without  name  or  holding,  every  cur  that 
could  yelp  or  snap — any  jackal  which,  turning,  could  set 
his  teeth  in  the  lion  at  bay.  Gordons,  too,  w^ere  there — 
Huntley's  men,  come  to  avenge  their  defeat  at  the  hands 
of  Mistress  Maud's  kinsfolk  in  the  marsh  of  Dunkinty, 
And  as  we  saw  their  Highland  plaids  we  sang  this 
lilt : 

"'Where  left  thou  thy  men,  thou  Gordon  so  gay? 
In  the  bog  of  Dunkinty,  mowing  the  hay ! ' 

"  But  they  came  more  and  more,  like  swarms  of  wasps 
from  a  thousand  nests,  from  north  and  east  and  west. 
They  hemmed  us  in.  And  when  we  went  to  count  our 
array,  lo !  false  Hamilton  was  oflF  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  gone  to  make  his  peace  with  the  King,  taking 
with  him  a  full  third  of  our  men ! 

"  For  that  which  followed  I  blame  only  myself.  If  I 
had  been  as  good  a  general  as  I  am  a  man  of  my  hands 
in  the  day  of  battle,  we  might  have  burst  through  them 
all.  But  though  Archie  urged,  and  Hughie  and  Little 
John  added  thereto,  I  would  not  budge.     Because  She 


DIES    IR^    IV  239 

was  with  us  and  in  the  rough-and-tumble  of  the  fray — 
well,  enough  said !  We  abode  where  we  were  and  about 
us  the  ring  of  foes  thickened  every  hour,  waiting  for  the 
dawn  and  the  trump  of  battle. 

"  The  worst  was  that  the  pick  of  these  men  there  were 
of  our  name  and  family,  Douglases  led  on  by  Douglases. 
But  I  warrant  you  George  of  Angus  strove  for  no  occa- 
sions of  converse  with  me  that  day.  Dalkeith  fought 
like  a  man,  but  Angus  lurked  behind  the  troops — because, 
forsooth,  he  was  the  general.  Strategem,  you  call  it. 
When  I  fought  in  France  by  the  side  of  the  young 
Dunois  we  had  another  word  for  such  generalship. 

"  Hand  to  hand,  is  James  Douglas's  mind  on't :  Lay  on 
— no  lack — the  ringing  steel  and  plenty  of  it — as  indeed 
I  gat  that  day  a  bellyful  of  from  your  father. 

*'  So  then  we  had  to  lie  on  our  arms  on  Arkinholm,  with 
one  you  know  of  in  the  midst,  chanting  snatches  of  song 
and  wild  rattling  catches  of  which  Hughie  had  great 
store.  But  Magdal — she,  that  is,  for  whose  sake  we 
awaited  our  fates  on  those  wide  holms  by  the  Esk,  be- 
sought us  with  tears  to  get  to  our  prayers  instead  of 
singing  such  words. 

"  But  wild  Hughie  cried  out  that  as  the  Douglases  had 
lived  so  they  had  better  die. 

"  '  What  came  after  all  of  our  own  Will's  niceness 
with  womankind  ?  '  he  cried,  '  his  conscience  as  fine  as 
a  threaded  needle?  Ask  the  little  back  window  in  Stirl- 
ing that  overlooks  the  ladies'  court?  What  was  the  end 
of  cousin  Will's  devotion  and  single-heart  service  to  his 
love  and  his  lady?  The  Black  Bull's  Head  on  the  board 
of  Edinburgh  Castle  will  answer  you  that.' 

"  '  Hush,  Hughie,'  I  bade  him  under  my  breath,  '  mind 
whom  we  have  with  us  or  I  will  break  that  addle-pate  of 
thine ! ' 

" '  Break  it  and  welcome,  Jamie,'  he  retorted,  '  as  well 
you  as  another.  'Tis  you  have  broken  us  all.  Up  in 
the  host  yonder  is  one  Malise  McKim  and  his  seven  sons 
with  him  (there  were  but  six,  but  Hughie  knew  not  that 
you,  Sholto,  abode  in  Thrieve).  And  doubt  not  that  he 
who  has  made  the  armour  for  generations  of  Douglases, 


240  MAY    MARGARET 

who  has  tempered  the  steel  we  fight  with,  and  hammered 
the  armour  that  covers  us,  will  to-morrow  send  us  all  four 
to  gather  the  green  birk  and  the  yellow  by  the  banks  of 
Jordan's  river  !  '  " 

(This  to  a  turn,  was  Hugh  Douglas's  wild  way  of 
speaking.  We  could  almost  hear  him  as  his  brother 
spoke. ) 

"  Then  at  these  words  she  started  up. 

"  '  I  will  go  to  him,'  she  cried.  '  I  will  beg  of  Malise 
McKim  to  slay  me,  me  only,  and  to  let  James  go  free. 
In  bitterness  I  will  tell  him  my  fault.  Let  me  go.  I 
will  seek  my  father !  You  have  no  right  to  restrain  me, 
Hugh  of  Ormond  ! ' 

"  '  Lie  you  still,  lassie,'  said  Hughie,  who,  indeed  meant 
no  unkindness,  '  lie  you  still  where  ye  are.  Jamie  may 
chance  to  save  you  the  morn's  morning,  but  ye  will  never 
save  Jamie.  He  hath  tripped  us  all  up  by  this  day's 
wark.' 

"  Then  fearing  to  hurt  me,  his  brother,  he  added 
quickly  : 

No,  that  diel  yin  o'  us  is  fit  to  better  anither — except 
only  Will,  and  Will's  dead.  Aweel,  here  we  be  four 
Douglases  of  us,  brothers,  sons  of  one  father  and  of  one 
mother.  I  fear  we  are  but  rough  colts,  and  when  we  die 
we  will  go  where  they  do  not  sing  many  psalms  or  play 
muckle  upon  instruments  of  ten  strings.  But  this  virtue 
at  least  we  have.  We  blame  Jamie  no  more  than  we 
blame  oursel's.  We  will  stand  to  Jamie's  quarrel  and  die 
the  death  for  Jamie — aye,  and  for  the  puir  bit  lass  here ! 
Nay,  bide  ye  still,  Magdalen,  we  will  not  let  ye  gang  to 
your  death,  gin  we  can  help  it,  my  bairn.  Stand  up, 
Archie  !  Stand  up,  Little  John  !  Stand  up,  Jamie — that 
has  the  most  need !  Hands  about — this  lassie-bairn  in 
the  midst !     There  ! ' 

"  Even  as  he  said,  so  we  did.     He  went  on. 

Now  we  hae  nae  priest.  Nane  o'  us  hae  tormented 
Him-Up- Yonder  wi'  mony  supplications.  Therefore  He 
is  like  to  hear  this  last  yin  the  readier.  Join  hands  and 
say  after  me — "  Tak'  pennyworths  o'  us,  guid  Lord,  but 
save  an'  forgie  the  lassie.     She  is  but  a  bairn."     IVIiat 


DIES    IR^    IV  241 

are  ye  greetin'  for,  Jamie?  Ye  should  hae  ta'en  thocht 
on  that  afore !  Noo,  after  me,  ilka  yin  o'  ye,  say  Hughie 
Douglas's  prayer — his  first,  last,  and  only : 

"  Tak'  ye  pennyworths  o'  us,  guid  Lord !  But  save  the  lassie, 
and,  oh — forgie  her.  For,  kennin'  what  is  in  men,  brawly  ye  ken 
it's  no  her  faut!" 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

ARKINHOLM 

"  After  that  we  channted  no  more  wild  songs,  but  lay 
still  all  the  night  till  the  greying  of  the  day.  Once  we 
heard,  as  it  were,  the  sound  of  a  great  voice  on  the 
heights  cursing  us,  in  words  that  carried  far. 

"  We  knew  itfor  the  voice  of  Malise  McKim,  and  looked 
at  Magdalen.  But  she  seemed  in  a  kind  of  daze,  as  if  she 
kenned  not  that  or  anything. 

"  It  was  in  the  earliest  morning  that  they  attacked.  We 
were  posted  on  a  little  hill,  the  top  of  it  plain  and  clear, 
but  the  sloping  sides  overgrown  and  cumbered  over  with 
whin  and  broom.  From  the  east  the  light  had  begun  to 
ooze  up  grey  and  chill.  It  was  no  ground  for  the 
manoeuvring  of  horses.  Knowing  our  weakness  in  num- 
bers we  had  chosen  it  accordingly.  So  with  her  in  the 
midst,  and  I  know  not  what  strange  thoughts  in  our 
hearts,  we  waited. 

"  It  was  about  the  third  hour  when  they  came  at  us  on 
all  sides  with  a  rush  and  much  crying,  shrill  as  are  the 
east  country  winds  in  Angus  and  the  Lowdens.  Our 
archers,  all  border  men,  had  good  cover  to  shoot  from, 
and  thick  and  fast  they  sent  their  arrows  into  the  swann. 
Then  arose  shouts  of  encouragement  and  cries  of  pain. 

"  '  Aim  at  the  horses  of  the  knights ! '  cried  Hughie, 
who  saw  a  chance. 

"  And  so  for  a  time  they  did.  and  brought  many  to  the 
ground.  So  we  held  to  it  while  the  east  pearled  and  we 
could  see  the  faces  of  our  neighbours. 

"  At  first  it  seerhed  as  if  Hughie's  good  advice  might 
turn  the  day.  Because  the  horses  of  the  Angus  men  and 
of  the  Guard  Royal,  refusing  the  hill  and  stung  by  the 
shafts  from  the  long  bows  and  the  quarrels  of  the  cross- 
bowmen,  turned  tail  from  the  attack.     It  was  not  the 

242 


ARKINHOLM  243 

knights  or  mounted  men  who  put  us  down  at  Arkinhohn, 
but  the  hthe  and  swarming  footmen  who  came  leaping 
with  pikes  and  leathern  jacks  to  the  hand-to-hand  en- 
counter. 

"  So  blind  were  we  on  the  hill-top  that  we  set  up  a  cheer 
looking  across  the  level  straths  and  holms  of  the  Esk 
Water  upon  the  retreating  horsemen,  and  giving  little 
attention  to  a  great  company  of  men  on  foot  armed  with 
pikes  and  swords  who  came  to  take  us  in  the  rear,  by  the 
way  that  is  called  the  Way  of  the  Sea. 

"  It  was,  indeed,  Magdalen  who  first  gave  the  warning 
that  they  were  close  upon  us.  Malise  McKim  led  them, 
and  at  the  same  moment  from  every  quarter  of  the 
heaven,  the  assailants  swarmed  about.  They  pushed 
through  the  green  bracken  of  the  braefoot,  up  the  side 
that  looks  toward  the  hill  called  Burnswark.  They  as- 
cended swiftly,  clambering  through  the  tangle  of  birchen 
scrub  and  scroggy  thorn.  They  leaped  the  prickly  hedges 
of  gorse,  and  raced  across  the  last  thirty  yards  of  turf, 
men  falling  at  every  step,  stricken  by  the  bolts  from  our 
bows  or  transfixed  by  the  clothyard  arrows  shot  by  the 
men  from  the  Marches.  Another  moment  and  they  were 
upon  us. 

"  Then  a  great  misfortune  befell.  Our  archers,  who 
were  men  unskilled  with  the  sword,  and  loving  not  at  all 
to  fight  hand-to-hand,  broke  and  fled  down  the  hill,  some 
flinging  themselves  headlong  into  the  Esk  and  some  try- 
ing the  wildernesses  towards  the  swamps  of  Lochar. 

"  But  all  was  not  yet  lost.  As  quickly  as  we  fell,  so 
quickly  we  closed  the  ranks.  The  gaps  filled,  and  we 
Douglases  of  the  Black  stood  steady  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
Could  I  have  been  sure  that  she  was  safe  behind  me,  and 
would  be  content  to  bide  there,  I  had  even  known  a  sort 
of  gladness.  For  ever  since  I  was  a  boy  I  have  loved 
the  crash  of  steel  on  steel.  But  in  leaving  my  charger 
tethered,  I  had  foregone  some  part  of  my  advantage. 
For,  like  Sholto  there,  I  am  ever  best  when  the  lances 
are  in  rest  and  the  visors  down.  But  at  Arkinholm  that 
could  not  be.  We  were  too  few,  and,  if  anything,  our 
position  must  fight  for  us.     Save  Hughie's  prayer  that 


244  I^IAY    IMARGARET 

He  might  keep  the  lass,  we  prayed  no  prayers  to  God. 
Hard  had  we  Hved,  we  Douglases  of  the  Black,  we  would 
die  hard,  asking  no  favours,  making  no  whining  at  the 
last,  but  taking  without  complaining  that  which  was 
served  out. 

"  And  we  gat  it.  Ah,  lads,  we  gat  it  that  day !  Yet 
strange  are  the  ways  of  Fate— here  lie  I  with  many 
wounds  truly  and  a  broken  head,  but  still — alive,  who 
alone  deserved  to  die — the  sin  being  mine  own — the  fault, 
the  condemnation.  There  is,  I  wot,  more  at  the  back  of 
God's  justice  than  the  priests  dream  of.  Perhaps  it  had 
been  better  if  I  had  died. 

"  But  at  Arkinholm  fierce  and  always  fiercer  waxed  the 
fight.  Ten  times  we  sent  them  reeling  down  the  hill, 
spite  of  Malise  and  his  sons.  The  sun  rose.  It  looked 
on  a  trampled  swelter  of  whins,  on  grass  meadows  delved 
in  the  soft  places  as  with  spades.  Black  patches  there 
were  here  and  there  on  the  green  turf,  almost  a  wall  of 
them  in  front  of  our  array.    These  were  dead  men. 

"  But  still  there  was  no  break.  We  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder  about  the  little  clump  of  trees  on  the  uttermost 
top.  Beneath,  far  as  we  could  see,  swarmed  the  hosts  of 
the  enemy.  They  debouched  out  of  little  ravines  on  the 
sides  of  barren  hills.  They  appeared  like  so  many  wild 
fowl  out  of  the  marshes  of  Lochar.  Over  the  ridge  out 
of  the  vale  of  Annan  Water  they  climbed.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  end  to  their  coming. 

"  '  Lads,  we  are  sped ! '  cried  Archie,  after  a  while.  He 
was  not  of  a  sounding  witty  speech  like  Hughie.  But 
his  heart  was  staunch,  and  (as  they  all  did)  he  held  his 
faith  to  the  end. 

"  It  was  in  a  little  breathing  space  when  the  foe  stood 
still  to  gather  strength  and  let  their  reserves  come  up. 
Ten-o'-the-knock  it  was,  and  we  had  been  at  it  since  three- 
and-a-bittock  of  the  morning,  hard  as  drums  a-beating. 

"  We  stood  together  a  little  apart,  we  four  Douglases. 
None  whom  we  had  there  could  we  trust — we  who  a  year 
ago  could  have  whistled  up  two  thousand  men,  all  belted 
knights  with  squires  at  their  heels. 

" '  Harken   to   me,'    said   Archie   the    Silent    (Earl   of 


ARKINHOLM  245 

Murray  he  was  and  a  good  man !)  '  we  are  to  die.  So 
much  is  clear,  good  lads  all !  Counter  me,  any  of  you,  if 
you  can  make  other  of  it ! ' 

"  But  none  answered,  for  indeed  no  better  was  to  be 
made. 

"  '  So,'  he  said,  *  you  agree.  Then  the  best  we  can  do 
is  to  die  like  Douglases,  for  our  House  and  our  honour — 
what  is  left  of  it ! ' 

"  That  was  the  one  thing  of  bitter  that  he  said,  and  then 
in  a  moment  he  made  it  up  again  as  was  ever  our  fashion 
in  quarrels  between  ourselves. 

" '  See,  lads,'  he  continued,  *  you,  Hughie — and  you. 
Little  John — neither  Murray,  nor  Ormond,  nor  Balveny 
shall  see  us  any  more.  Our  sweethearts  shall  not  kiss  us 
nor  we  them.  We  shall  never  walk  with  them  at  mom 
or  e'en,  nor  pluck  the  pink  and  the  gillyflower  to  set  in 
their  waist-belts.  But  as  for  James,  he  is  the  head  of 
the  House — the  Earl  of  Douglas.  Moreover  he  hath 
what  we  have  not — another  with  him  here.  Well,  give 
good  ear — his  beast  is  in  the  thicket  there  in  the  midst  of 
the  array.  Let  the  charger  be  saddled  and  prepared.  Let 
him  ride  light.  Let  him  take  the  lass  up  behind  him  with 
her  arms  about  his  waist,  that  his  hand  may  be  free  for 
the  fighting,  which  shall  be  brisk.  Then  we,  that  are 
his  brethren,  will  see  him  safe  through  the  thickest  of 
it.  We  there  shall  die.  So  much  is  sure.  We  may 
as  well  die  doing  the  best  for  the  House.  When  they 
come  again,  will  you  help  me  to  save  the  Chief?  What 
say  you,  Hughie  ?  ' 

"  '  Aye  to  that ! '  quoth  Hughie. 

''  'And  aye !  '  quoth  Little  John. 

"  But  I  cried  out  that  we  should  all  die  together.  But 
Magdalen — she  who  had  followed  me  there — said  no 
word.  For  though  (as  you  shall  speedily  know)  she 
cared  naught  for  her  own  life,  she  desired  that  I  should 
be  spared  to  win  through. 

"  It  was  not,  perhaps,  the  kindest  wish — but  that  is  the 
way  of  women. 

"  So  they  four  overbore  me,  and  the  beast  was  saddled 
to  be  ready. 


246  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Then  Archie  spoke  to  the  Douglas  men  who  were  with 
me. 

" '  The  enemy  will  come  again  and  that  speedily,'  he 
said.  '  We  four  will  drive  straight  into  the  thickest 
of  them,  if  so  be  we  can  save  the  Chief.  Bide  you  here. 
Give  us  five  minutes'  grace  to  hold  the  pursuers  in  check. 
Then  scatter,  and  every  man  for  himself!  Your  best 
chances  are  the  marshes  of  Solway  and  the  hags  of 
Lochar.     Will  you  do  it  ?  ' 

"  *  Can  we  no  thresh  them  yet,  think  ye,  Maister 
Airchie  ? '  cried  one  from  the  ranks  in  the  broad  accent 
of  Douglasdale. 

"  '  Nay,'  answered  Archie,  '  it  but  behoves  us  to  die 
like  men.  Yet  will  ye  give  us  five  minutes?  Remember, 
it  is  for  the  Chief.' 

"  '  Aye,  ten,  twenty — an  ye  will !  Never  fear !  The 
dam-dyke  will  baud ! '  cried  the  man  from  the  Upper 
Ward — John  Steel  of  Muirkirk  the  name  of  him.  '  If 
it  pleasure  the  Yerl,  we  will  dee  as  we  stand,  every  man 
o'  us,  married  an'  single,  for  the  honour  o'  the  Douglas 
and  the  luve  o'  the  auld  name !  " 

"  And  at  this  time  I  was  greivously  ashamed — I  who  had 
thought  so  little  of  that,  of  which  these  poor  men  thought 
so  mickle. 

"  And  it  befell  even  so.  For  though  the  battle  was 
thick  and  insolent  about  us,  so  long  as  consciousness 
and  the  knowledge  of  one  man  from  another  remained 
to  me,  the  last  stand  of  the  Douglases  on  the  broomy 
knowe  of  Arkinholm  had  not  been  broken.  The  dam- 
dyke  was  still  holding  when  I  came  away. 

"  But  for  me,  the  end  came  so  swiftly  that,  save  for  the 
heady  din  of  arms,  the  crowding  turmoil  of  the  fight, 
I  have  but  little  to  tell  that  is  of  any  clearness. 

"  One  thing,  however,  I  remember,  before  I  mounted — 
that  is,  Little  John  leading  my  horse  up  to  me  ready 
saddled.  For  on  all  our  campaigns  together,  he  would 
let  none  other  perform  the  office,  ever  since  the  time 
that  he  had  been  my  esquire. 

"'James,'  he  whispered,  'Airchie  (I  speak  it  as  about 
to  die)  never  liked  ye  ava',  an'  Hughie  no  mickle.     But  I 


ARKINHOLM  247 

aye  loved  ye,  Jamie — sairly  I  loved  ye.  So  mind,  if  ye 
win  awa',  that  theirs  is  the  greater  deed !  It  is  easy  to 
die  for  them  ye  luve,  brither  mine.  But  juist  for  honour 
and  that — no  so  easy !  So  gin  ye  leeve  dinna  forget 
Hughie,  Jamie — nor  yet  misjudged  Airchie.  For  me,  I 
ken  ye  will  whiles  gie  a  thocht  to  Little  John.' 

"  I  had  no  more  than  time  to  take  him  by  the  hand  for 
a  moment — little  said,  I  lifted  myself  into  the  saddle. 
Hughie  and  Archie  set  Her  on  the  pillion  behind  me. 
I  took  sword  in  hand,  and  we  waited. 

"  We  had  no  long  time  to  put  it  off.  They  came  soon, 
with  stormy  cryings  and  shouts,  lashing  all  about  us  like 
waves  about  a  sea-rock — as  Ailsa  or  the  Bass. 

"  '  There  lies  our  way ! '  said  Archie,  who  had,  what  I 
have  lacked,  the  general's  eye,  '  yonder,  where  they  are 
spread  out  on  account  of  the  swamps.  Take  the  left 
where  the  gravel  bank  is  more  compact,  that  it  may  better 
bear  the  feet  of  the  beast.' 

"  Then  he  distributed  his  men. 

"  '  In  front  with  me,  Hughie.  Lead  the  horse,  Little 
John — that  is,  till  it  is  time  to  let  him  have  his  head  and 
the  spur  in  his  flank ! ' 

"  He  reached  up  a  hand. 

'' '  Fare  ye  well,  Jamie !  '  he  said,  shortly,  his  eyes 
turned  away  from  me. 

"  The  other  was  kinder,  though  just  as  brief. 

"  '  Dinna  forget  Hughie's  prayer,  gin  ye  win  awa' ! '  said 
Hughie  of  Ormond. 

"  But  as  for  Little  John  he  said  nothing,  having  already 
made  his  good-byes, 

"  And  behind  from  the  pillion  I  could  feel  arms  that 
clasped  me. 

•  •  •  •  • 

"  We  started,  slowly  at  first,  for  we  wished  to  let  the 
assailants  win  near  to  the  foot  of  the  knowe,  just  far 
enough  away  to  get  the  charger  to  his  pace  on  the  open 
holms.     And  then  to  it  with  a  will ! 

"  They  came  shouting  on.  We  four  abode  silent,  and 
behind  us  on  the  ridge  the  Douglases  waited,  few  and 
desperate — those  who  were  set  to  die  for  their  House. 


248  •  MAY    MARGARET 

"  We  four  went  down  the  hill,  Hughie  on  one  side, 
Archie  at  the  other,  Little  John  guiding  the  beast  as  care- 
fully as  if  he  had  been  foresman  at  a  ploughing. 

"  Presently  out  of  a  little  clump  of  alder  and  birch  we 
emerged.  As  we  descended,  the  wood  had  partly  hidden 
us,  but  now,  across  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  of  green 
turf  without  an  obstacle,  all  suddenly  we  fronted  the 
enemy.  They  saw  us  and  shouted.  The  die  was  in  the 
casting.     All  of  us  gripped  our  weapons. 

"  *  Stand  wide  for  the  axe-play ! '  cried  Hughie,  and 
spat  upon  his  hands. 

"  The  rest  of  us  had  swords,  save  Little  John,  who,  for 
the  nonce,  trusted  to  a  dagger,  having  to  guide  the  beast 
and  keep  out  of  the  way  of  my  strokes. 

"  And  so  we  drave  at  them. 

"  The  crash  came  as  quickly  as  '  two '  comes  after 
'  one.'  We  shore  through  them  as  doth  a  scythe  through 
a  harvest  rig.  But  'they  were  more  and  ever  more,  as 
it  seemed,  behind  and  before  us. 

"  Archie  was  the  first  to  go  down.  We  came  on  Malise 
McKim  and  his  sons  (aye,  your  folk,  Sholto,  and  they 
did  the  right.  Never  will  I  say  other!)  Malise  struck 
at  me  with  his  lochaber,  but  Archie  gat  between  and 
received  the  stroke.  He  fell,  cloven.  Then  Hughie,  left 
sole,  with  his  axe  hacked  a  way  through  the  first  en- 
gagement. 

"  But  Malise  had  seen  and  known.  It  was  enough. 
He  turned,  he  and  his  sons  with  him.  All  on  foot  they 
were,  one  only  in  armour,  a  slight  lad  in  black  whom  I 
knew  not. 

"  '  This  way,'  the  smith  cried,  '  kill — that  is  he  on  horse- 
back! If  ye  let  him  escape,  I  will  slay  you  with  my 
hand.' 

"  So  they  turned  to  follow,  all  the  seven  of  them.  More 
there  were  also  with  them,  many  more.  But  them  I 
considered  not. 

"  Doubly  laden  as  he  was  and  the  way  difficult,  my  good 
beast  could  make  but  little  progress.  Moreover,  the  end 
was  not  far  off.  Malise  came  like  a  thunderbolt  with  the 
rush  of  an  angry  bull.     Poor  Hughie  turned  to  guard 


ARKINHOLM  249 

himself,  but  went  down,  his  helmet  (the  same  the 
armourer  had  made  him)  cracked  in  twain  like  a  nut. 
But  the  blow  and  the  recovery  had  delayed  Malise  a 
moment.  Little  John  and  I  reached  better  ground — out 
of  the  thickest  turmoil  of  battle.  Only  Malise  followed. 
All  else  were  clear  behind.  He  would  have  slain  me 
easily,  for  I  was  sore  wounded  already  in  the  unequal 
fray — half  a  dozen  McKims  hammering  about  us  like 
laddies  at  a  wasps'  byke.  My  sword  was  broken  in  my 
hand.     For  I  had  given  and  taken  great  strokes. 

"  Yet  once  again  mine  enemy  was  upon  me.  I  heard 
a  scream.  A  weight  shifted  from  the  pillion  to  my 
shoulders.  The  blow  of  Malise  the  smith  fell,  but  not 
first  of  all  on  me.  Magdalen  had  done  yet  one  thing 
the  more  for  me.  With  her  hand  she  had  turned  aside 
the  point  of  the  pike.  It  passed  through  her  body  into 
mine.  So  I  did  not  die.  But  these  all  died  for  me — 
my  brothers  died,  and  She  also ! 

"  I  knew  not  how  she  fell.  I  knew  no  more.  I  mind 
only  Little  John  as  he  cut  the  lightened  charger  over 
the  flank  to  make  him  gallop,  and  turned  upon  the  swarm 
of  his  foes  with  a  smile  in  his  face.  Of  Magdalen  I  saw 
no  more.  The  beast  had  leaped  across  her  body  in  his 
stride  as  he  turned  his  head  towards  Thrieve  and  safety !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  end  of  the  Narrative  of  the  Putting  Down  of  the 
Douglases  at  Arkinholm  on  the  Water  of  Esk,  as  told 
on  his  sick-bed  by  James,  ninth  Earl. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 


A    MAIDEN    LEFT   ALONE 


It  is  not,  of  course,  to  be  supposed  that  a  man  so  griev- 
ously wounded  as  James  Douglas  could  at  one  time  and 
without  repose,  deliver  himself  of  a  narrative  so  pro- 
longed and  circumstantial  as  this.  On  the  other  hand, 
that  repetitions  may  be  avoided,  I  have  chosen  to  set  it 
in  a  place  by  itself. 

And  so  that  being  completed,  it  falls  to  be  related  what 
happened  the  afternoon  of  the  day  when  James  began 
the  story  of  the  Arkinholm.  It  chanced  that  Sholto,  in 
arranging  the  bandages  of  the  wounded  man,  ripped  off 
the  shirt  of  soft  doeskin  he  had  worn  under  his  body- 
armour.  It  was  hard  and  drawn  in  places  with  the 
sweat  and  blood  of  the  battle.  But  in  a  kind  of  double  ply 
which  had  been  recently  sewn  up,  something  crackled. 
Sholto,  who  had  been  about  to  throw  the  rags  of  doeskin 
into  the  fire,  quickly  ran  the  point  of  his  knife  along  the 
line  of  unskilful  stitches.  A  letter  fell  out,  folded  small 
and  addressed  in  clear  clerkly  characters. 

To  Sir  Sholto  McKim  at  Thrieve,  or  in  his  absence  to  the 
Abbot  Laurence  of  Sweetheart,  in  trust  for  Malise,  Armourer- 
smith  of  IMollance  and  Carlinwark. 

Sholto  fell  back,  his   face  suddenly  white  and  drawn. 

"  It  comes — from — from  our — little — Magdalen  !  "  he 
said. 

Till  that  moment  I  had  never  suspected  how  Sholto 
had  suffered.  But  it  is  certain  that  he  as  well  as  Lau- 
rence had  loved  the  maid,  he  as  well  as  his  father  had  felt 
the  sting  of  pride,  the  thirst  for  vengeance.  Yet,  so 
devoted  was  he  to  his  purpose  once  taken,  that  he  had 
made  all  else  subordinate  to  the    championing    of    my 

250 


A    MAIDEN    LEFT    ALONE  251 

cause,  because  I  had  been  committed  to  him  and  to  Maud. 
And  other  friends  I  had  none.  It  was  a  true  word  he 
had  spoken. 

But  he  had  suffered,  and  not  till  that  moment  did  I 
understand  how  much. 

Maud  went  quickly  to  him,  and  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der. But  before  she  had  read  the  first  word  she  came 
back  to  me. 

"  I  think  it  is  fitting,"  she  said,  "  that  Sholto  should 
first  read  this  letter  by  himself.  It  may  not  be  for  any 
of  our  eyes." 

At 'this  moment  James  Douglas,  rousing  unexpectedly, 
saw  Sholto  stand  with  the  open  writing  in  his  hand. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  have  found — her  letter — I  had 
forgotten.  I  was  to  give  it  to  you  if  I  won  through. 
Read  it !  She  wrote  it  at  the  Nunnery  of  our  Lady  near 
to  Carlisle  town,  and  rendered  it  to  me  ere  we  took  our 
departure  for  the  field." 

He  was  wondrously  collected,  and  spake  as  of  a  trifle 
he  had  overlooked.  It  brought  back  some  of  the  old 
bitterness  to  hear  him.  I  did  not  then  realise  that  it  was 
his  nature  so  easily  to  put  behind  him  the  past.  He 
could  not  help  it.  And  indeed  that  is  one  of  the  greatest 
gifts  the  gods  can  give  to  any  mortal.  The  man  who 
would  bring  up  the  waters  of  Lethe  to  the  world,  would 
deserve  better  of  his  fellowmen  than  Prometheus,  who 
from  heaven  brought  down  only  fire. 

Sholto  went  to  his  own  chamber  in  order  to  read  Mag- 
dalen's letter.  James,  who  had  tossed  and  murmured, 
was  safely  asleep  by  the  time  he  came  down.  Sholto 
handed  me  the  written  sheet. 

"  Go,"  he  said  to  Maud,  "  read  it  together — you  two 
women.     I  can  do  no  more.     It  is  for  your  eyes  also !  " 

The  writing  began  without  date  or  preliminary. 

"  I,  called  Magdalen  McKim,  believing  and  hoping 
that  I  am  about  to  die.  write  for  the  last  time  to  you, 
Malise  McKim,  whom  I  have  called  father  all  my  life, 
and  to  you  Sholto  and  Laurence — to  such  also  of  my 
younger  brothers  as  are  old  enough  to  understand. 


252  MAY   MARGARET 

"  I  am  presently  in  the  Convent  of  the  Good  Sisters 
near  to  the  town  of  CarHsle.  But  I  cannot  abide  here, 
having  chosen  a  road  which  I  must  follow  to  the  end. 
wheresoever  it  may  lead  me. 

"  Having  much  to  say — little  time  to  say  it  in,  I  must 
needs  be  brief. 

"  But  first  let  it  be  understood  and  agreed  that  I  blame 
no  one — not  even  greatly  myself !  What  hath  been.  I 
could  not  help !  The  wind  carries  the  feather — the  river 
the  fallen  leaf.  The  bum  follows  the  valley  to  the  sea, 
through  deep  gorge,  smiling  dell,  and  gloomy  cavern, 
through  dark  pool  and  over  foaming  precipice  it  must 
needs  follow  on.  till  it  reaches  the  Sea — which  is  Oblivion. 
So,  hoping  for  that  Sea,  I  follow  my  Lord  of  Douglas. 

"  Think  a  little,  my  father,  before  you  cast  your  little 
Magdalen  off — or  disallow  her  utterly  from  the  number 
of  your  children.  Was  she  not  younger  born — left  much 
to  herself?  The  lads  were  in  the  smithy — Laurence  and 
Sholto  already  grown  men  of  their  years.  You  loved 
me,  my  father.  You  also,  my  mother.  But  you  dwelt 
apart.  Your  thoughts  were  not  mine,  nor  indeed  could 
they  be. 

"  So  I  sought  my  friends  on  the  mountains.  Wild 
things  loved  me — even  deer  and  shy-starting  birds  of 
the  woods.  On  the  moor  the  red  grouse  sat  only  the 
closer  as  I  went  by.  I  could  put  my  hand  on  the  head 
of  the  brooding  mavis  and  her  speckled  breast  heaved 
no  whit  the  faster  for  that. 

"  But  I  needed  love.  All  my  life  I  had  loved,  it  is 
true,  according  to  my  knowledge.  I  gave  love  to  all  that 
were  in  the  woods  and  the  earth  and  the  air.  But,  after 
their  kind,  they  gave  me  little  in  return.  Perchance, 
even  my  Lady  of  Thrieve,  reading  this,  will  understand 
somewhat,  and,  if  forgive  she  cannot,  at  least  she  will 
remember  me  with  a  less  unkindly  heart. 

"  Slowly  it  came  to  me  that  I  was  growing  old.  I 
had  grey  hairs  in  my  heart.  Nevertheless,  there  came 
enough  and  to  spare  of  men  and  lads  from  here  and  there 
to  tell  me  I  was  fair  and  desirable.  And  I — I  had  not 
even  the  desire  to  laugh  at  them.     I  only  wished  them  to 


A    MAIDEN    LEFT   ALONE  253 

begone,  and  if  they  stayed  overlong,  or  troubled  me,  I 
bade  my  father  see  to  it.  This  out  of  his  love,  fearing 
that  he  might  lose  me,  he  was  all  too  willing  to  do. 

"  But  now  I  see  that  I  did  wrong,  for  more  than  ever 
after  that  I  was  left  alone.  Yet  I  could  not  bear  such- 
like wooers  near  me — these  roystering  soldiers  of  the 
guard,  these  holders  of  twenty  shilling  lands  with  the 
grease  of  the  mid-noon  dinner  on  their  gowns,  loutish 
lads  from  the  farm  towns  of  Kelton  and  Balmaghie, 
smelling  of  the  stable — faugh! — I  was  glad  to  render 
myself  again  up  to  the  clean  air  of  the  hills,  the  green 
shades  of  the  woods,  and  the  kindly  beasts  and  birds  that 
never  taigled  or  wearied  me,  asking  for  what  I  could  not 
give. 

"  But  all  the  time  I  carried,  unknowing,  an  empty  heart. 

"Till  one  gloaming  I  was  going  homeward,  singing 
the  song  of  an  idle  peace.  A  dove  was  perched  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  a  young  kid  that  had  lost  its  mother  fol- 
lowed bleating  behind,  desiring  my  hand  between  its  soft 
lips.  Then — all  suddenly,  I  was  stayed  by  the  most  glor- 
ious and  goodly  sight  that  the  heart  of  woman  could 
desire  to  see. 

"  A  man  came  towards  me  on  a  white  horse,  his  stature 
great  and  goodly  as  the  cedars  of  Lebanon.  His  visor 
was  up,  and  his  face  like  that  of  a  young  bridegroom  com- 
ing forth  from  his  chamber,  high  and  comely  to  see,  yet 
noways  proud.  I  had  never  seen  any  like  him.  He  was 
clad  in  armour  all  lined  and  floreated  with  silver  and 
gold,  and  his  helmet  shone  upon  his  head  like  light.  It 
had  wings,  too,  on  either  side,  starting  up  as  high  as  the 
crest.  A  cloak  of  silk  was  thrown  carelessly  over  his 
shoulders,  blue  lined  with  white,  but  the  trappings  of  his 
horse  were  of  a  pale  clear  blue,  lined  with  crimson.  And 
he  seemed  to  me  like  one  of  those  great  knights  of  old 
of  whom  the  harpers  sing  on  the  village  green  when 
the  good  folk  are  gathered  together — St.  George  of 
England  or  Sir  Amadis  of  Gaul — one  to  rescue  ladies 
and  to  kill  great  flaming  dragons  with  a  stroke  of  his 
lance. 

"  He  spoke,  and  his  voice  was  so  sweet  and  moving 


254  MAY    MARGARET 

that  I  could  not  but  stop  and  listen.  Nay,  I  was  not 
affrighted  at  all.  Only  the  dove  that  was  on  my  shoulder 
took  flight,  and  I  saw  it  no  more. 

"  And  then  the  next  evening,  I  passing  by  the  same 
way,  he  came  again.  And  this  time  he  was  no  longer 
in  armour,  but  clad  in  shot  silk  of  a  gorgeous  web,  and 
with  an  eagle's  feather  in  his  bonnet.  And  from  that 
day  forth  he  began  to  speak  sweet  loving  words  to  me, 
and  I  to  listen.  He  told  me  that  he  was  the  Lord  James 
Douglas,  but  that  I  must  on  no  account  reveal  the  matter 
to  my  father,  or  I  should  see  him  no  more. 

"And  knowing  him  unwedded  (for  so  by  artful  ques- 
tions of  my  mother  I  learned),  I  thought  nothing  amiss. 
Also  he  told  me  (what  I  loved  to  hear)  of  his  love  for 
me,  and  how  he  would  surely  own  me  so  soon  as  they 
gave  him  a  title  and  earldom  of  his  own,  as  they  had 
done  to  his  three  younger  brothers,  Murray  and  Ormond 
and  Balveny. 

"  And  when,  after  many  days,  I  found  that  he  was  in- 
deed on  the  eve  of  marriage,  and  that  to  his  brother's 
wife,  lo,  it  was  too  late.  I  had  no  more  any  pride  at  all, 
and  could  not  choose  but  obey  him  in  all  things — the 
which,  indeed,  the  most  part  of  women  would  have  been 
glad  and  proud  to  do,  as  I  have  seen  since  in  England 
many  times  to  my  inward  hurt. 

"  Nor  do  I  wish  him  to  be  blamed  for  concealing  this 
and  other  things  from  me.  For  (this  also  I  learned  in 
England)  it  is  the  ordinary  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid — 
at  least,  of  such  a  man  as  my  Lord  of  Douglas  with  such 
a  girl  as  L 

"  Now  I  should  stop  here,  having,  indeed,  nothing 
more  to  add.  I  have  written  these  things  that  you,  my 
father,  my  mother,  and  my  brethren,  might  know  that  it 
was  no  sudden-springing  evil,  nor  wholly  of  his  doing. 

"  But  this  there  is  laid  heavily  upon  me,  that  where 
he  goes  I  must  follow.  I  cannot  abide  among  this  Good 
Sisterhood,  all  clad  alike  in  black  and  white,  who  say 
their  prayers  and  sing  from  morn  to  night,  from  night 
to  morn.  Once  I  used  to  sing  also,  but  not  now.  They 
tell  me  that  he  has  gone  to  fight  a  great  battle — that  it 


A    MAIDEN    LEFT   ALONE  255 

bodes  me  to  stay  quietly  here,  and  that  if  he  is  killed 
they  will  cherish  me  here  all  the  days  of  my  life ! 

"  It  is  of  their  loving-  heart.  God  reward  them  for 
the  wish !  They  are  good  women,  and  I  am  not  worthy 
of  one  tithe  of  all.  But  stay  I  cannot.  If  so  be  he  goes 
to  a  field  of  death,  I  will  go  too,  and  help  him  to  find  it. 
That  we  may  die  together,  I  do  not  wish,  for  in  that 
case  he  would  die  unsained.  But  I — I  have  this  day 
confessed  and  been  absolved  by  the  good  priest-almoner, 
who  dwells  in  a  lodge  near  by.  But  I  pray  God  that  it 
may  be  given  to  me  to  save  him  from  death,  at  least  for 
a  while — and  lead  him  out,  so  that  he  may  make  a  good 
end,  and  meet  me  in  the  presence  of  God  a  man  shriven 
and  cleansed  from  the  sins  of  man,  a  man  as  wholly  for- 
given— as  if  I,  the  little  Magdalen  who  loved  him,  had 
the  forgiving  of  him.  As,  indeed,  I  do  forgive  him  from 
my  heart. 

"  Finally,  pray  for  me,  my  father !  Pray  for  me,  my 
mother.  Pray  for  me,  Sholto  and  you  Maud,  my  sister. 
Sing  a  mass  for  me,  Laurence,  whom  I  loved  perhaps 
the  best  of  all,  yet  knew  the  least.  Perhaps  if  you  had 
been  at  home,  my  brother  Laurence — but  who  knows? 
Well — God,  perhaps.  To  him  I  do  commend  and  com- 
mit myself,  being,  as  is  my  thought  and  esperance,  very 
near  to  death,  to  Mary  the  Mother,  and  to  her  Son  who 
brought  into  the  world  kindliness  for  sinful  women. 
Neither  will  he  condemn  me — hath  he  not  said  it? 

"  Dear  hearts,  from  my  heart  I  do  bid  you  all  a  fair 
good-night.     I  shall  not  see  another,  if  God  please. 

"  This  last  word  receive  right  lovingly  from  the  Mag- 
dalen who  was  yours." 

And  when,  all  in  tears,  we  gave  the  letter  back  to 
Sholto,  who  waited  motionless  by  the  bed  of  his  master, 
he  said,  pointing  to  James  Douglas,  "  Say  nothing  of 
this  to  him.     He  would  not  understand.     .     .     . !  " 

And  I  also,  being  the  man's  wife,  knew  within  my 
heart  that  Sholto  was  right ! 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE   EAGLES    ARE    GATHERED   TOGETHER 

It  seemed  strange  that  after  these  things  we  yet  lived — 
yea,  and  breakfasted,  and  dined,  and  supped.  It  was  as 
if  we  had  within  the  Castle  of  Thrieve  one  dead.  Up  in 
the  chamber  lay  James  Douglas — tended,  ministered  to, 
watched,  the  strength  coming  back  slowly  to  his  great 
frame  and  the  manly  beauty  to  his  countenance. 

Yet  to  each  of  us  the  man  was  dead.  I  think  there 
was  none  who  saw  him  but  in  heart  despised  him — Sholto, 
who  had  seen  him  ride  forth  as  champion  of  Scotland 
against  France,  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  Maud  and  I, 
who  had  seen  him  come  home  through  the  gloaming,  red 
from  the  battlefield,  tragic  and  desperate. 

But  the  soul  of  the  man  was  in  none  of  these — grown 
small  instead,  cradled  contentedly  in  luxury  and  the 
gratifying  of  self. 

Yet  even  so,  and  knowing  all  these  things,  there  was 
nevertheless  something  of  the  salt  of  humour  and  kindlv 
intent  about  James  of  Douglas  which  kept  any  one  of  us 
from  altogether  hating  him.  Of  all  at  Thrieve  I  was 
perhaps  the  most  pitiful,  though  I  spent  least  time  beside 
his  bed. 

He  mended  fast — his  clear,  well-exercised  flesh  healing 
and  throwing  off  disease  with  the  same  large  careless  ease 
with  which  he  did  everything.  But  there  were  yet  many 
storm  clouds  on  the  horizon.  The  enemies  of  the  House 
of  Douglas,  the  false  and  fickle  friends  and  waiting  indif- 
ferents  alike  hastened  to  take  up  arms  by  thousands  for 
the  cause  of  the  King  after  the  fatal  day  of  Arkinholm, 
so  that  a  few  months  found  him  at  the  head  of  such  an 
army  as  no  Scottish  monarch  had  ever  led  against  a 
subject. 

256 


EAGLES   ARE    GATHERED    TOGETHER    257 

And  to  oppose  that  array  which  marched  up  the  long 
strath  of  Clyde,  struck  to  the  right  over  by  Leadhills,  and 
so  down  the  windings  of  the  Mennoch  to  Sanquhar  and 
finally  Dumfries,  what  appertained  to  the  Douglas? 

Only  that  one  tall  castle  of  Thrieve,  the  strongest  in 
Scotland,  certainly  for  weight  and  mass  of  masonry,  the 
strongest  for  position  also,  set  on  its  island  with  the  Dee 
Water  deep  all  about  it,  and  such  a  labyrinth  of  fosses 
and  ramparts,  outworks  and  guarding  towers  as  was 
possessed  by  no  castle  in  the  Northland.  Indeed  it  is 
little  likely  that  out  of  France  there  was  any  in  the  world 
that  could  match  it. 

Then  the  island,  itself  counted  impregnable,  was  alive 
with  cattle,  all  the  herds  safely  lodged  behind  stone  walls, 
every  horn  and  hoof  under  cover,  and  yet  with  twenty 
acres  of  excellent  pasturage  wherefrom  to  draw  their 
fodder.  The  country-folk,  too,  were  for  us,  and  it  was 
little  likely  that  for  a  long  time  the  King  would  be  able  to 
make  his  blockade  of  Thrieve  perfect,  especially  to  the 
south. 

"  The  castle  can  stand  a  siege  of  two  years,"  Sholto 
said,  with  pride  in  his  voice,  "  and  there  are  many  things 
which  may  happen  in  Scotland  within  two  years." 

Our  garrison,  small  though  it  was  in  numbers,  was 
composed  of  such  men  as  the  Douglases  had  never  yet 
brought  to  battle — no  raw  levies,  but  the  Douglas  Guard 
itself — each  man  enlisted  and  drilled  by  the  Captain  him- 
self, loyal  to  the  name  and  the  place,  faithful  to  the  noble 
traditions  of  the  Douglases  of  the  Black,  to  their  mighty 
castle  of  Thrieve,  both  of  which  they  believed  destined 
to  an  eternity  of  safety  and  renown. 

Yet  all  told,  we  counted  only  five  hundred  men  as 
against  the  growing  thousands  of  the  King.  And  this  of 
Sholto's  set  purpose.  Indeed,  he  was  daily  pestered  with 
ofifers  of  service  by  stout  young  fellows  of  the  neighbour- 
ing parishes  who  heard  of  the  advent  of  royal  troops,  and 
who  desired  to  fight  for  the  Douglases. 

It  was  early  on  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  July, 
when  the  watchers  on  the  topmost  towers  of  Thrieve  saw 
the  sunshine  on  the  pennants  and  guidons  of  the  King  of 


258  MAY    MARGARET 

Scots,  his  army.  They  were  yet  far  away  to  the  north- 
east, following  the  ridge  of  heights  called  Clairbrand, 
which,  under  the  guidance  of  some  expert  person  (of  a 
surety  Malise  McKim  and  his  sons),  they  had  kept  all 
the  way  from  Dumfries,  thus  escaping  the  swamps  and 
marshy  wildernesses  of  bog  and  peat-hag  which  extended 
to  the  south  of  Thrieve. 

In  an  hour  the  vanguard  was  clearly  to  be  seen,  keep- 
ing closely  to  the  highest  ground  and  throwing  out  skir- 
mishers in  order  to  feel  for  any  possible  enemy. 

James  Douglas  was  by  this  time  able  to  sit  up  a  little 
each  day.  And  in  spite  of  the  galling  of  his  green 
wounds,  at  the  first  sight  of  the  glitter  of  the  spearheads, 
the  fighting  spirit,  which  indeed  he  never  lacked,  returned 
upon  him. 

"  Bring  me  forth  my  war-gear,"  he  cried.  "  I  will  go 
to  the  fords  of  Glenlochar  and  counter  them  there. 
Quick,  Andro !  Quick,  John — the  black  armour  with  the 
silver  work  of  Damascus  in  which  I  fought  the  French- 
man at  Stirling !  " 

But  on  the  pretence  of  searching  for  the  arms,  Andro 
the  Penman  ran  quickly  up  to  Sholto,  who  was  on  the 
topmost  tower,  watching  the  progress  of  the  King's 
host. 

"Sir  Sholto,"  he  gasped  hastily,  "  my  lord  is  up  on  his 
feet,  demanding  arms  and  armour  that  he  may  lead  a 
force  to  block  the  fords  of  Glenlocher  against  the 
King. 

Sholto  descended  precipitately  to  the  chamber,  where 
he  found  James  already  trussing  his  points,  and  swearing 
because  there  was  no  squire  at  hand  to  aid  a  man  in  his 
own  house ! 

"  My  Lord  Earl,"  said  Sholto,  bowing  gravely,  "  this 
is  not  a  venture  for  you  that  are  still  sore  wounded. 
Moreover  we  cannot  fight  in  the  open.  There  they  are 
too  many  for  us.  There  be  ten  thousand  men  in  sight — in 
Castle  Thrieve  are  just  five  hundred — and  quite  enough 
too,  seeing  that  each  of  them  hath  a  mouth  that  must  be 
filled  twice  a  day  with  porridge  and  beef  and  broth.  Get 
to  bed,  my  Lord  Earl,  and  trust  to  me.    The  castle  can  be 


EAGLES  ARE  GATHERED  TOGETHER  259 

kept  without  the  fords  of  Glenlochar.  We  would  only- 
throw  away  our  men  uselessly  in  such  sallies.  Let  me  be 
your  assistant  to  disrobe !  " 

And  he  proceeded  to  put  him  back  in  his  great  carven 
bed  of  oak  as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  And  James  sub- 
mitted, murmuring  only  with  that  saving  humour  which 
did  not  forsake  him  in  the  darkest  hours — nay,  which  was 
most  clearly  apparent  then,  "  'Tis  pretty,  i'  faith,  to  suckle 
and  put  to  bed-a-bye  a  ninth  Earl  of  Douglas  in  his  own 
Castle  of  Thrieve !  Pray  who  counts  himself  the  master 
here?" 

"  I  know  not  who  counts,"  said  Sholto.  "  I  am  the 
Captain  of  Thrieve  !  " 

And  James  of  Douglas  actually  laughed,  either  at  the 
conceit  or  at  Sholto's  grim-set  mouth,  I  know  not  which. 

Maud  and  I  went  and  stood  with  Sholto  on  the  bal- 
cony that  ran  round  the  top  of  the  castle.  Here  was 
none  but  ourselves  and  the  four  sentinels  placed  as  usual. 
All  beneath  was  quiet,  as  everything  from  January  to 
December  had  perforce  to  be  quiet  where  Sholto  com- 
manded. It  was  a  clear  summer  day  with  a  north-blow- 
ing wind.  We  could  see  distinctly  each  company^  of 
spearmen,  each  group  of  knights  and  men-at-arms. 
Even  the  colour  of  their  standards  we  could  faintly  dis- 
tinguish, though  they  were  too  far  off  for  us  to  note  the 
various  devices  upon  them. 

Soon  the  tents  and  pavilions  began  to  be  pitched  by  the 
camp  followers  and  sutlers.  A  white  forest,  crowned 
with  a  multitude  of  flapping  devices,  arose  on  the  ridges, 
between  the  crossing  of  the  road  which  leads  to  the  Kirk 
of  Michael  and  that  turning  to  the  left  towards  the  Fords 
of  Lochar.  These  lines,  following  the  crown  of  the 
country  to  the  north  and  east,  were  well-nigh  five  miles  in 
length,  from  the  ridge  of  Carlinwark  to  the  little  hill  that 
overlooks  the  woodlands  of  Balmaghie,  a  hill  which  in 
after  times  and  under  a  new  name  was  to  cost  us  so 
dear. 

But  meantime  by  the  Three  Thorns  and  just  out  of 
sight  of  the  castle  there  arose  in  the  westering  sun  of 
afternoon  the  silken  pavilions  of  the  court.     For  the  King 


26o  MAY    MARGARET 

of  Scots,  murderer  and  traitor  as  he  was,  had  come  to 
conduct  in  person  the  siege  of  the  last  remaining  strength 
of  his  rebel  vassal,  and  so  finish  with  some  eclat  the  work 
which  had  been  begun  in  dishonour  and  treachery  at 
Edinburgh  and  Stirling. 

Now,  since  I  that  have  writ  so  far  am  but  a  woman,  and 
at  that  time,  indeed,  little  more  than  a  girl — therefore 
unskilled  in  the  art  of  war,  in  blockade,  breach,  and  esca- 
lade, I  judge  it  right  to  insert  in  this  place  the  descriptions 
of  another,  who  saw  what  we  could  not  from  the  ramparts 
of  Thrieve — that  is,  the  preparations  which  were  made 
by  the  King's  engineers  to  reduce  our  famous  fortalice. 

Now  there  was  at  the  time,  under  the  shade  of  the 
Three  Thorns  of  Carlinwark,  and  looking  with  curious 
eyes  at  the  opening  up  of  the  long-abandoned  armourer's 
smithy  and  the  white  cottage  all  overgrown  with  untended 
creeping  plants,  a  certain  young  man,  in  the  plain  dark 
dress  of  an  esquire,  to  whom,  as  it  soon  appeared,  the 
King  had  taken  a  fancy.  He  had  remarked  him  as  he 
rode  by,  his  favourites,  Crichton  and  the  two  recreant 
Douglases,  by  his  side. 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?"  he  asked  him,  "you  have 
not  the  look  of  a  soldier."  (It  was  at  half  a  mile  from 
Dumfries,  after  one  has  crossed  over  Devogill's  bridge, 
going  westward,  that  the  King  noticed  the  young  man.) 

"  Your  Majesty,"  said  the  youth,  "  choose  you  out  a 
captain  or  a  man  of  war.  Let  me  try  a  bout  with  him 
at  his  own  weapons,  and  (save  it  be  Malise  McKim,  the 
smith)  I  will  stand  by  the  result,  soldier  or  no!  "  , 

The  King  laughed. 

"  You  do  shrewdly  well  to  make  the  exception,"  he 
cried.  "  But  I  have  some  skill  myself  with  the  lighter 
weapons.  We  might  do  worse  than  fall  to.  You  are 
of  slender  build.  The  broad-axe  is  not  for  gentlemen. 
You  can,  I  think,  speak  French " 

"  Like  a  clerk !  "  said  one  of  his  favourites  sneeringly 
— Douglas  younger  of  Dalkeith  he  was,  he  whom  they 
called  the  Master  of  Morton. 

"  Ah,"  said  King  James,  "  mayhap  Latin,  too,  and  all 
too  like  a  clerk,  Morton !     But  what  care  I,  so  long  as  he 


EAGLES  ARE  GATHERED  TOGETHER  261 

will  help  me  against  yonder  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  defies 
me  and  keeps  the  realm  in  a  turmoil." 

"  That  he  doth !  "  said  young  Morton  with  a  fury  some- 
what affected.     "  I  would  I  had  him  by  the  thrapple !  " 

"  His  estates,  you  mean ! "  commented  the  youth  in 
black,  giving  back  the  sneers.  "  I  warrant  you  that  you 
would  think  twice  before  you  stood  up  to  James  Douglas 
with  the  steel  points  bare ! " 

"  Ha,  well  said,  young  sirrah,"  cried  the  King,  who  in 
truth  loved  to  see  his  favourites  put  down.  "  That  took 
you  fair  in  the  wind,  Morton.  And  true  it  is.  Myself 
saw  him  fight  with  the  French  Champion  at  Stirling  when 
I  was  a  lad,  and  a  better  lance  was  never  pushed  than  that 
which  James  of  Douglas  held  that  day !" 

"  Save  that  of  Sir  Sholto  McKim !  "  said  the  young 
man,  "  he  who  is  now  captain  of  Thrieve !  " 

At  this  the  King's  brow  darkened  somewhat. 

"  What  know  you  of  Sholto  McKim  ?  "  he  demanded ; 
"  is  it  that  you  are  a  spy,  or  disloyal,  thus  to  praise  one 
in  arms  against  his  King?  Canst  tell  me  why  is  it  that 
he,  sole  among  all  that  family,  is  not  with  the  King's 
colours?  He  follows  his  lord,  and  so  stands  to  lose  his 
head  with  him !  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  young  man  in  black,  with  gentle 
persistence,  "  he  also  hath  his  private  griefs  against  James 
Douglas,  and  would  gladly  meet  him  point  to  point.  But 
he  stands  for  his  mistress,  the  chatelaine  of  Thrieve,  the 
Lady  Margaret,  whom  it  was  Your  Majesty's  will  and 
pleasure  to  cause  marry  with  James  Douglas,  being  his 
brother's  widow.  She  was  committed  to  Sholto  McKim 
as  a  child,  and  now  he  would  gladly  die  for  her  sake, 
though  he  is  a  man  with  young  children." 

"  But  the  Countess  Margaret  is  also  in  rebellion ! " 
cried  young  Morton. 

"  What,  the  estates  again,  Morton !  "  laughed  the  King, 
turning  sharp  upon  him,  "  the  corn  must  be  cut  before  you 
butter  the  bread,  my  lad !  " 

Then  he  mused  some  time  upon  the  young  man  in 
black. 

"  From  whom  had  you  these  things  ? "  he  demanded. 


262  MAY    MARGARET 

"  You   do   not   speak   like    one   of   this    neighbourhood. 
These  are  no  countryside  manners.     Whence  come  you  ?  " 

"  My  name  I  cannot  tell,  at  this  present,"  the  young 
man  answered,  "  but  Malise  McKim  and  his  sons  will 
vouch  for  me  that  I  am  no  spy.  Your  Archbishop  of 
Saint  Andro's  or  my  Lord  of  Dunkeld  will  do  the  same 
that  I  am  no  runaway  priest.  And  for  the  rest,  I  have 
been  much  abroad — in  France  more  than  once.  I  have 
ridden  in  the  lists  at  Paris  and  Amboise.  I  have  been  at 
Rome.  But,  being  all  the  loyaler  a  Scot  for  these  things, 
if  it  please  you  to  employ  me  without  a  name,  I  shall 
e'en  render  Your  Majesty  such  service  that  he  will  give 
me  a  name — be  it  the  meanest  in  his  kingdom.  For  as 
IMalise  the  smith  will  tell  you,  I  have  a  blood-feud  against 
James  of  Douglas,  and  for  that  I  have  come  with  a  squire 
and  twenty  well-trained  men-at-arms  to  the  King's 
muster." 

"  I'faith,"  cried  the  King,  "  clerk  or  English  renegade, 
or  what  not,  you  speak  right  well.  A  blood-feud  against 
James  Douglas !  Why,  man,  such  appear  to  have  been 
rife  about  here.  He  must  have  been  a  man  of  his  parts, 
this  same  James  Douglas.  And  a  good  drinker,  too,  they 
tell  me.  'Tis  a  pity,  but  Doom's  dues  maun  he  paid,  they 
say.  Yet  I  would  it  had  been  another  than  Earl  James 
who  has  to  pay  them.  His  brother,  of  whom  they  prate 
so  mickle,  was  but  a  wizened  pippin  to  him !  " 

At  this  the  young  man  in  black  looked  up  with  a  glance 
like  the  point  of  a  spear. 

"  Ah,  you  knew  him  ?  "  he  said  softly ;  "  you  entertained 
him  at  Stirling,  did  you  not?  I  think  some  such  report 
came  to  my  ears,  though  I  was  far  away  and  in  retreat 
at  the  time !  " 

The  fiery  face  of  the  King  grew  purple.  There  came 
a  red  light  also  into  his  eyes,  lurid  and  angry  almost  as  the 
birthmark  on  his  cheek, 

"  You  are  either  a  very  bold,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  a 
very  foolish  and  ignorant  young  man,"  he  said,  "  thus  to 
play  with  your  neck-jointings.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
Gallows'  Slot  of  Thrieve  ?  " 

The  youth  bowed. 


EAGLES    ARE    GATHERED    TOGETHER    263 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  Your  Majesty." 

"  Then,"  quoth  the  King  fiercely,  "  I  advise  you  to  keep 
a  guard  upon  your  tongue,  or  in  that  very  spot  your  head 
may  chance  to  go  one  way  while  that  slender  body  of 
yours  goes  another !  " 

"  Your  Majesty,"  the  young  man  answered  quietly,  "  I 
am  indeed  little  fit  for  a  Court,  where  nothing  is  heard 
from  morn  till  night  but  that  which  shall  be  pleasing  to 
the  King.  Call  on  my  Lord  of  Morton,  and  my  Lord 
Crichton,  and  my  Lord  Huntly,  and  the  Laird  of  Drum 
for  such  like ;  they  will  supply  you.  All  that  I  ask  is  per- 
mission to  stand  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  with  the 
men  I  have  fetched  to  the  muster.  And  at  the  end,  if  I 
live  and  avenge  my  feud,  let  His  Majesty  call  me  by  what 
name  he  will,  so  it  be  neither  Gordon  nor  Hamilton ;  for 
I  love  neither  traitors  nor  false  swearers !  " 

Half  a  score  of  swords  leaped  from  their  scabbards 
at  the  words,  and  the  young  man  in  black,  as  perhaps  he 
had  counted  on,  found  himself  with  a  ring  of  adversaries 
— handsome  Hamiltons  and  Gordons,  possibly  gay,  but 
for  the  time  being  certainly  exceeding  wrathful. 

"  Hold  there,"  cried  the  King,  holding  up  his  hand, 
palm  outward.  "  I  forbid  you  to  fight — anon — anon ! 
This  is  neither  time  nor  place.  I,  James  Stewart,  am  of 
this  young  man's  faction  (here  he  cocked  his  bonnet), 
and  if  any  of  you  bauld  young  men  object  to  a  plain  word 
for  a  plain  thing  (here  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword 
hilt)  well — he  shall  have  yet  another  adversary  to  reckon 
with !     Your  whittles  in  their  sheaths,  gentlemen !  " 

Amid  half-concealed  growls  and  murmurs  they  obeyed. 

"  French  lick-the-dish !  Monkish  runagate !  Scented 
civet-cat !     Nameless  loon  !  " 

These  were  a  few  of  the  choicest  of  their  epithets  for 
the  youth  in  whom  their  jealousy  feared  a  new  favourite. 
The  last  came  to  the  King's  ear,  who  happened  to  be  in  a 
mood  to  run  counter  to  those  who  for  ordinary  dandled 
and  daintied  him  with  their  tongues,  half  to  his  pleasure, 
and  half  to  his  contempt. 

"  '  Nameless  loon ! '  said  ye,  George  of  Douglas  ?  "  he 
cried  aloud,  "  I  tell  you,  Angus,  my  man,  your  own  name 


264  MAY    MARGARET 

is  in  no  such  good  odour  this  day  in  Scotland  that 
ye  can  afford  to  cast  dirt  on  others.  And  as  for  this 
young  man — faith,  an  he  wants  a  name,  for  some  odd 
reason  of  his  own,  such  as  may  happen  to  any  gentleman 
■ — why,  he  shall  have  mine  own !  And  I,  the  King,  desire 
the  man  to  stand  forth  from  among  you  who  hath  aught 
to  sa.x  against  that !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

THE   YOUNG   MAN    IN   BLACK 

This  is  the  written  story  of  the  Young-  Man  in  Black  to 
whom  the  King  (chiefly  because  he  desired  to  cross-but- 
tock his  sometime  favourites,  in  order  that  he  might 
show  them  that  he  and  not  they  had  the  mastery)  prom- 
ised on  the  braes  above  the  Brigend  of  Dumfries  the 
dower  of  his  own  royal  name. 

He  hath  put  the  script,  carefully  written,  into  my  hands, 
so  that  those  things  of  which  I,  Margaret  Douglas,  could 
not  have  knowledge,  looking  out  from  the  ramparts  of 
Thrieve,  might  yet  duly  be  set  down — first,  for  the  satis- 
faction of  those  who  in  their  time  were  part  of  these 
things  (now  alas,  but  few!)  and,  secondly,  for  the  infor- 
mation of  generations  yet  to  come — for  all  histories  that 
have  ever  been  writ  do  lie  to  the  detriment  of  the  Doug- 
lases, save  only  this  of  mine. 

THE   STORY   OF   THE   YOUNG    MAN    IN    BLACK 
Writ  at  length  so  that  it  might  be  prentit. 

As  I  walked  into  the  smithy  of  the  Three  Thorns  nigh 
the  King's  camp,  I  found  some  four  young  men  or  thereby 
blowing  up  the  fire  and  clinking  on  red  iron.  Right  sulk- 
ily they  regarded  me  upon  my  entrance.  For  it  was  long 
time  since  they  had  seen  me  and  never  in  such  a  garb. 

"  The  King  hath  given  orders  that  none  are  to  enter 
here,"  cried  the  eldest,  "  saving  those  who  have  care  of 
his  armouries,  and  of  these  only  such  as  are  fit  to  be  dea- 
cons of  the  guild  of  hammermen.  We  want  no  fine 
gentlemen  here,  God  wot — there  is  room  and  to  spare  for 
such  elsewhere !  " 

265 


2266  MAY   MARGARET 

And  the  second  said,  "  The  smiddy  door  stands  wide ! 
Go  out  by  it,  I  pray  thee  and  that  quickly,  or  I  will  break 
thy  head  with  a  pair  of  cleps ! " 

"  Nay,  keep  hin  ."  cried  a  third,  "  we  will  make  of  him 
a  whipcord  to  bii  d  a  trace  withal !  " 

For  I  had  pullec  my  cap  low  over  mine  eyes  and  in  my 
altered  habilimenis  it  fell  out  easily  that  they  knew  me 
not.  Indeed,  for  all  their  rough  words,  they  kept  steadily 
to  their  work  at  the  forge. 

"  I  am  no  fine  gentleman,"  I  made  answer,  very  quietly, 
"  but  of  your  own  guild,  and,  if  it  please  you,  not  wholly 
unfit  to  be  a  deacon  therein !  " 

"  You  are  a  hammerman — of  the  King's  armourers — 
let  us  see  yours  palms !  " 

And  at  that  they  laughed,  setting  their  own  hands  on 
their  hips  and  laughing.  For,  indeed,  my  finger  pads 
were  fine  and  unhardened. 

"Canst  put  shoes  on  war-horse?"  cried  one,  "or  so 
much  as  tell  the  hind  foot  from  the  fore  ?  " 

"Aye,  or  a  jimp  court  filly,  mayhap!" — shouted 
another,  "  get  thee  gone ! — Thou  lookest  more  fit  to  lace 
a  jupe,  like  a  woman's  tailor — wide  at  the  flounce,  narrow 
at  the  gathers — than  to  rivet  a  brigantine  or  to  forge  the 
chainwork  bandolier  for  a  King's  sword.  There  is  one  in 
the  fire  now — try  thy  hand  at  it,  boaster,  if  thou  darest !  " 

Now  this  task  was,  and  with  justice,  accounted  one  of 
the  most  difficult  of  all  the  practices  of  armoury,  and  one 
which  commonly  only  the  chief  armourer  himself  under- 
took. But  I  had  been  taught  by  one  that  was  a  master 
of  masters  in  the  craft  and  feared  nothing. 

So  with  the  pincers  I  pulled  the  rivet  bolt  which  was 
to  close  the  main  ring  out  of  the  fire,  and  looking  with 
apparent  carelessness  (but  really  most  carefully)  to  the 
degree  of  heat,  I  thrust  it  in  again,  and  bade  the  elder  of 
the  youths  be  ready  to  strike  for  me  when  the  colour  of 
the  steel  pleased  me.  Then  he,  having  a  certain  fear 
before  his  eyes,  would  have  drawn  back,  seeing  me  so 
determined. 

"  Our  father  is  no  easy  man  to  deal  with,"  he  grumbled. 
"  Why,  he  would  not  think  the  cracking  of  a  pouce  on  his 


THE   YOUNG    MAN    IN   BLACK  2(>7 

finger  nail  of  breaking  the  back  of  you — aye,  or  a  dozen 
like  you,  if  you  should  spoil  the  ring-grip  of  the  King's 
bandolier,  which  is  to  hold  up  his  royal  sword." 

"  Strike,"  said  I,  "  and  hold  your  tongue.  Ye  tempted 
me  to  it  by  your  mocks.  That  ye  well  know.  Now  I 
will  make  good  my  word !  " 

And  with  that  I  took  the  small  moulding  hammer  in 
hand — one  indeed  which  I  knew  very  well,  and  getting 
the  colour  of  the  metal  right  to  my  mind,  I  held  it  ready 
for  the  striker  on  the  beak  of  the  anvil.  But  he,  being 
afraid  in  his  soul  (perhaps  in  his  body  also)  struck  ill. 
So  that,  with  words  contumelious,  I  bade  him  forthwith 
go  sweep  the  shoeing  rank,  as  being  all  he  was  good  for, 
and  gave  the  hammer  to  his  brother.  He,  seeing  his 
elder's  fall,  did  well  enough — and  afterwards  better  than 
well.  So  I  thrust  in  and  took  out,  tempered  and  arrosed, 
as  I  had  seen  them  do  in  France,  not  making  a  plain  ring 
(which  indeed  in  Scotland  was  thought  a  good  enough 
piece  of  work)  but  all  in  facets  and  dimples,  cunningly 
set,  and  each  exactly  of  the  same  size,  like  the  cutting  of 
a  Venice  glass. 

And  the  lads  stood  and  watched,  saying  no  word  after 
they  had  seen  me  once  at  it. 

So  intent  were  we  on  the  finishing  that  when  I  had  at 
last  given  the  master  stroke  and  laid  the  bandolier  ring 
aside  to  cool,  no  one  of  us  had  noticed  that  a  certain 
huge  man,  who  walked  lightly  on  tiptoe,  had  been  observ- 
ing us  from  the  doorway. 

"  St.  Bride,"  he  cried,  "  if  that  be  not  my  son  Larry's 
stroke,  may  my  steel  never  do  more  than  cut  withes  to 
make  baskets  withal !  " 

And  with  that  he  walked  up  to  me,  and,  putting  forth 
his  hand,  he  took  off  the  squire's  cap  which  I  had  pulled 
low  over  mine  eyes,  and,  in  spite  of  the  walnut  juice 
which  I  had  used  to  tan  my  collegiate  blanching,  he  knew 
me  at  once. 

"  Faith,  Larry,"  he  cried,  "  a  rare  good  smith  was  spoiled 
in  thee  to  make  a  bad  Mess  John !  But  what  will  thy 
mother  say,  lad  ?     Art  run  off  from  thine  abbacy  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  the  archbishop  and  my  Lord  of  Dun- 


268  MAY   MARGARET 

keld  both  know  my  reasons.  Fear  not,  father.  I  have 
never  been  a  monk  at  heart  any  more  than  thyself,  and 
now  I  have  come  to  follow  my  star — glad  as  one  who  hath 
been  over-long  in  the  jingle-jangle  of  bells,  the  murmur- 
ing of  prayers  and  the  scent  of  the  incense,  for  all  which 
he  had  little  mind,  to  escape  to  the  tented  field  and  his 
King's  service !  " 

"  What,"  cried  Malise  McKim,  "  are  you  then  with  us 
in  this  matter?  Why,  Larry  lad,  I  thought  within  me 
that  you  would  have  been  even  as  Sholto — he  who  com- 
mands over  yonder." 

And  he  pointed  with  his  hand  in  the  direction  of 
Tbrieve. 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  with  you  heart  and  soul !  " 

"  But  somehow,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  brow  in  some  per- 
plexity, "  it  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  there  was  in 
your  heart  a  liking — more  than  a  liking  indeed  (St. 
Bride,  that  an  old  man  should  speak  of  love  and  the 
follies  of  youth  at  this  time  of  day!)  for  the  little  Lady 
Margaret  yonder — the  Earl  James's  wife  1  " 

"  Well,"  I  answered  him,  "  and  what  of  that,  my 
father?" 

"  Why,"  said  he,  still  perplexed,  for  he  was  of  a  nature 
essentially  simple  and  no  little  moidered  in  his  head  by 
his  troubles,  "  then  I  would  have  thought  that  you  would 
have  gone  to  her  and  not  to  her  enemies !  " 

"  By  what  name  did  you  call  the  ladv  just  now,  mv 
father?" 

"  Why — why ,"  he  seached  about,  "  what  should  I 

call  her,  and  were  it  not  the  Lady  Margaret — Earl  James's 
well-favoured,  ill-fortuned  wife?" 

"And  think  you,  father,"  I  made  him  answer  (for 
with  Malise  McKim  it  was  best  to  use  plain  words), 
"  that  I  would  love  the  Lady  Margaret  the  less,  if  she 
were,  by  chance,  my  Lord  Earl's  widow  instead  of  my 
Lord  Earl's  wife?  " 

"  U — m — m — m  !  "  he  said,  slowly  taking  it  in.  Then 
he  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  Such  thoughts  are  not  for  blacksmith's  sons,"  he 
grumbled  in  his  throat,  "  but  I  will  admit  that  ye  are 


THE   YOUNG   MAN    IN    BLACK  269 

worthy  to  be  a  deacon  among  hammermen !  Ye  have 
noways  forgotten  your  trade,  Larry,  my  lad !  " 

Then  my  brothers  crowded  about  me,  welcoming  me, 
and  asking  pardon  for  their  rough  words. 

"  Out  o'  that,"  cried  Malise,  raising  his  hand,  "  go 
forge  pike  points,  Corra.  And  you,  Herries  McKim, 
come  hither,  lift  this  ring  and  see  how  the  metal  is  run  in 
the  direction  of  the  strength.  Ye  alone  are  fit  for  some- 
thing better  than  to  clink  plough-shares.  But  as  for  the 
rest  of  you — Dun,  Roger,  and  Malise,  get  the  other  forges 
a-going — for  there  is  work  before  us  other  than  the  mak- 
ing of  springes  to  take  coneys.  And  now,  son  Laurence, 
let  us  talk!" 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

WHOM    GOD    HATH    TOUCHED 

Never  was  Scottish  siege  so  picturesque  as  this,  all  in 
the  broad  summer  weather — the  wide  pleasant  Strath  of 
Dee  glowing  under  the  August  sun,  and  the  knights  of 
the  King's  court  riding  forth  every  morning  decked  as 
to  a  tourney. 

Nevertheless  day  followed  day,  and  Alalise  fretted  in 
his  smithy,  or  used  words  in  the  broadest  Galloway  to 
the  King  himself — which,  had  they  been  understood  of 
the  monarch,  might  have  damaged  the  good  intent  there 
was  between  King  and  smith.  For  they  were  both  fierv 
by  nature,  and  Malise  cared  just  as  little  for  what  James 
Stewart  thought  as  James  Stewart  did  for  what  was  the 
opinion  of  his  new  ally  and  master  annourer. 

But  as  for  the  effect  of  all  they  let  loose  upon  the 
castle,  the  great  bolts  that  were  shot  from  the  slings  and 
catapults,  the  crackings  of  the  new  powder  engines,  and 
the  firing  of  tow-headed  arrows,  sent  blazing  across  the 
river,  the  besiegers  might  all  just  as  well  have  blown 
their  noses  or  sneezed  once  or  twice  in  the  direction  of 
Thrieve  for  all  the  progress  they  made  in  the  taking  of  it. 

For  Sholto,  having  had  his  times  to  make  ready,  had 
used  them  as  none  knew  better  than  he  how  to  do.  He 
had  fortified  the  whole  area  of  the  island  with  a  wall, 
adding  at  the  weaker  places  one  wall  behind  another,  and 
leaving  a  trench  between,  which  at  pleasure  he  could  fill 
with  water.  More  than  that,  all  the  ground  opposite,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  of  Dee,  had  been  cleared  of 
cover  and  made  bare  as  the  palm  of  one's  hand.  So  tliat 
at  any  moment,  Sholto  holding  the  short  inner  lines,  and 
having  the  breadth  of  the  water  of  Dee  on  all  sides  of 
him,  could,  by  drawing  his  men  together,  stop  any  rush 
that  was  made  closer  to  the  water's  side.     So  that  the 

270 


WHOM    GOD    HATH   TOUCHED  271 

defenders,  firing  from  perfect  cover,  and  with  rests  for 
their  bronze  culverins  and  httle  iron  fusils,  did  infinite 
damage  to  the  King's  men  without  receiving  so  much  as 
a  single  scratch  themselves. 

The  King,  following  the  advice  of  his  chief  nobles,  was 
all  for  the  slow  advancement  of  the  works  by  parallels 
and  cross  trenches  to  the  waterside — and  then,  a  dash 
through  and  a  rush  with  ladders  for  the  escalade! 

But  when  my  father  heard  this  he  was  very  angry,  or, 
rather  in  a  state  betwixt  laughter  and  anger. 

"  Why,  let  them,"  he  cried  (and  you  might  have  heard 
him  on  Cairnsmore),  "let  them  gather  all  the  bairns 
from  the  burgh  schools  of  Scotland,  all  the  lads  the 
monks  are  teaching  to  put  frocks  about  their  hur- 
dies,  also  all  the  cow-herds  and  all  the  swine-herds  and 
all  the  goose-herds.  For  these  are  exceedingly  expert 
in  the  use  of  the  '  billit-gun,'  that  deadly  weapon  made 
of  the  bark  of  the  bore-tree.  Then  with  wads  of  tow, 
well  chewed,  let  them  practise  upon  the  fortress  of 
Thrieve !  After  that,  like  Jericho,  the  walls  thereof  may 
have  a  better  chance  of  falling  down.  But  as  to  this  folly 
of  the  King's,  there  are  no  words  which  he  will  under- 
stand to  tell  him  how  foolish  it  is !  Nevertheless,  I  will 
try.  But,  ah — if  I  could  speak  to  him  in  the  Gallowa' ! 
Then  he  wad  think  but  little  o'  himsel' !  " 

So  Malise  McKim  went  to  the  King. 

It  was,  they  say,  a  stormy  time.  For  the  King,  a  man 
of  wrath  from  his  youth  up,  could  listen  peaceably  to 
no  one.  And  as  for  Malise,  my  father — well,  by  this 
time  the  world  kens  Malise  the  Smith  even  better  than 
James  of  the  Fiery  Face. 

"  I  tell  you.  King  of  Scots,"  said  Malise,  clasping  his 
hands  tightly  about  the  axe-pike  he  had  been  in  act  to 
make, — broad-bladed  and  beaked  like  a  falcon, — "  I  tell 
you  plainly  that  you  may  take  up  your  tents  and  kitchen 
cullenders,  remove  your  blazons  and  shields  hung  on 
spear  shafts.  Stands  Thrieve  ever  a  whit  the  less 
staunch  for  these?  Months  you  have  been  here,  and 
never  the  nearer  by  a  yard.  Also  James  of  Douglas  is 
on  foot  again !    My  son  Herries,  who  hath  the  long  sight. 


'272  MAY   MARGARET 

saw  him  yesterday  (no  further  gone)  directing  the  arch- 
ers to  mark  down  your  cannoneers  upon  the  brae  opposite 
the  ford  to  the  south,  and  in  ten  minutes  there  was  not 
a  man  upright  upon  his  legs  among  the  Httle  pivot  guns, 
also  the  oxen  that  drew  them  were  all  dead  too." 

"  Good,  my  master  armourer,"  said  the  King,  "  there 
is  matter  in  what  you  say,  as  well  as  some  insolence, 
which  for  this  time  I  pardon  in  you  seeing  whom  ye  have 
been  serving  all  your  life !  " 

"  Bide  there,  King  James,"  cried  Malise.  "  I  have,  it 
is  true,  a  death  quarrel  with  the  man  yonder — James 
of  Douglas.  But  I  was  born  under  another  Douglas — 
aye,  in  the  year  of  Otterburn — he  at  whose  funeral  they 
led  Percy  captive.  Under  six  Earls  have  I  served.  Good 
men  and  true  men  were  they  all — bucklers  to  their  King, 
barriers  against  England.  These  have  I  served  all  my 
life,  and  now  at  the  end  this  man  hath  cut  me  off  from 
mine  own  loyalty  as  with  a  deadly  blow !  But,  hark  ye. 
King  of  Scots,  my  quarrel  is  with  the  man  and  not  with 
the  House  of  Douglas,  though  in  my  rage  I  may  have 
said  other  of  it.  Nevertheless,  I  will  aid  you  to  bring 
yonder  castle  to  the  ground,  and  the  man  in  it  to  the 
rope's-end  or  the  edge  of  the  sword  for  that  which  he 
hath  wrought  to  me  and  mine.  Almost  at  Arkinholm 
my  right  arm  had  saved  you  the  trouble,  but  someone — 
I  remember  not  well  who — came  between  me  and  my 
vengeance !  " 

The  old  smith  drew  his  hand  slowly  over  his  face,  as 
if  to  clear  his  brain  from  some  encompassing  cloud — 
possibly  the  same  reek  of  hate  and  vengeance  which  had 
so  nearly  turned  another  brain — as  I  read  in  the  chron- 
icle which  hath  been  written  by  the  Lady  Margaret 
herself. 

There  was — I  saw  it  not  always,  but  chiefly  when  he 
sat  brooding  and  thinking  over  his  wrongs — a  certain 
glowing  madness  or  capacity  for  madness  in  my  father, 
ordinarily  covered  up,  indeed,  but  ready  to  break  forth 
at  the  least  mention  of  the  name  of  James  Douglas.  As 
to  his  daughter,  it  was  otherwise.  For  he  would  start 
up  suddenly  from  his  chair,  or  perhaps  from  a  day-dream 


WHOM    GOD    HATH    TOUCHED  273 

on  a  cool  hearth  in  the  smithy,  his  back  against  the  wall 
and  his  head  deep  sunk  in  his  beard. 

"Where  is  Magdalen  ?  "  was  ever  his  cry ;  "  good  wife, 
where  is  our  Magdalen  ?  I  bid  you  tell  me !  'Tis  some 
time  since  she  went  out.  She  bides  over  late  on  the 
hills!" 

But  there  was  none  to  answer  as  to  where  Magdalen 
might  be  found. 

Meanwhile,  all  unwitting  of  this,  the  King  and  his 
suite  stood  watching.  James  Stewart,  having  a  certain 
curious  sympathy  for  the  sorrow  of  the  smith,  quieted 
those  behind  him  with  a  turn  of  the  hand — the  which, 
perhaps  because  it  was  the  same  that  had  treacherously 
slain  his  best  friend  and  greatest  subject,  was  not  to  be 
regarded  without  a  certain  awe. 

"  Why,  Master  Armourer,"  said  the  King  more  gently, 
"  'tis  very  well  in  a  proven  man  of  war  like  Malise  of 
Carlinwark  and  Mollance  to  commend  us  young  men  to 
return  to  our  wives'  petticoat  tails  and  the  surcots  and 
pearled  veils  of  our  sweethearts.  He  hath  done  his  day's 
darg.  Six  great  lords  hath  he  served — better,  perhaps, 
than  they  served  the  crown !  " 

At  this  Malise  interrupted  once  more. 

"  Yet,  did  not  your  gran'ther,  young  man,  bestow  one 
of  his  daughters  upon  an  Earl  Douglas,  and  never 
thought  himself  or  her  the  worse?  Nay,  by  what  other 
means  doth  the  crown  of  the  Bruces  sit  upon  your  own 
head,  James  Stewart,  an  the  first  o'  your  race  had  not 
fand  it  pinned  to  the  bolsters  of  a  bride-bed?  " 

The  King  frowned  and  then  laughed. 

"True,"   he   said,   "true   indeed !     And   so  did  we 

all  come  from  Eve  the  wife  of  a  gardener,  who  had  never 
a  bolster  at  all,  nor  pillow  whereon  to  lay  her  head.  Yet 
for  the  life  of  me.  Master  Armourer,  I  cannot  see  that 
such  talk  as  thine  brings  down  the  walls  of  Thrieve  any 
.faster  than  our  poor  arbalasts  and  bombards!  " 

Before  answering,  the  smith  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow  as  if  to  clear  his  mind.  In  these  latter  days  this 
had*  become  a  fashion  with  him.  He  seemed  to  get 
bogged  in  his  own  words,  and  then  after  a  while  to  return 


274  MAY    MARGARET 

with  a  sudden  start  to  the  gloomy  vengeance  to  which 
he  had  vowed  his  days. 

"  Give  me  till  to-morrow,  my  Lord  the  King,"  he  said 
with  more  gentleness,  "  I  have  somewhat  in  my  head 
here  if  only  I  can  disentangle  it.  Ravelled  it  is,  and 
knotted,  but  it  will  lead  us  somewhither.  But  first  I 
would  speak  with  my  seven  sons — nay,  he  added  quickly, 
correcting  himself,  with  six  only — Sholto,  the  best  of  all, 
is  over  yonder !  Yet,"  he  added,  "  it  is  strange,  I  have 
tried  and  I  cannot  curse  Sholto !  " 

He  turned  gently  about,  a  milder  mood  being  upon  him. 

"  Your  Majesty  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  pray  your 
pardon  if  one  to  whom  God  has  left  more  brawn  than 
brain,  more  weight  than  wit,  more  choler  than  courtesy, 
hath  used  words  to  hurt  your  gentrice.  It  was  far  from 
his  intent.  But  by  long  usage,  old  Malise  McKim  is 
grown  rough  as  his  own  smith's  apron.  Yet,  if  he  can 
hammer  out  the  thought  that  is  in  his  head,  yon  high 
tower  of  Thrieve  shall  fall !  And,  if  God  leave  strength 
to  this  right  arm  and  enough  good  hemp  within  the  realm 
of  the  Scots,  James  Douglas  shall  die  a  dog's  death — for 
what  he  hath  done — for  what  he  hath  done — zvhat  ivas 
it  that  he  did?  I  forget,  gentlemen!  Truly,  I  forget. 
But  it  was  something  he  shall  die  for — yes,  die  for!  I 
am  an  old  man,  and  everything  goes  from  me.  But  to- 
morrow we  McKims  shall  have  this  thought  of  mine  ham- 
mered out  and  welded  and  tempered — ready  to  be  put 
before  Your  Majesty.  By  the  head  of  my  little  wench 
Magdalen,  it  shall  be  so!  She  was  so  beautiful,  gentle- 
men, and  innocent — and  sat  long  upon  my  knees  with 
her  arms  about  my  neck.  But  she  is  dead,  gentlemen. 
She  is  dead,  and  the  angels  took  her.  I  am  an  old  man, 
a  very  old  man,  gentlemen  all — I  pray  you  forgive  me !  " 

And  saluting  with  his  bonnet  brought  as  low  as  the 
kn€e  in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  which  was  the  cour- 
teous fashion  of  the  ancient  time,  Malise  of  the  Strong 
Thews,  my  good  father,  withdrew  him,  his  great  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  Herries,  his  son,  not  for  support, 
but  rather  as  one  might  walk  with  a  staflf. 

And  they  say  that  the  King  softly  laid  his  finger  on 


WHOM    GOD    HATH   TOUCHED  275 

his  own  brow,  saying,  "  Be  gentle  in  speech  with  liim,  my 
lords,  God  hath  touched  the  old  man,  or  his  trouble  of 
mind,  mayhap.  He  is  strong  as  Samson.  His  bodily 
strength  is  not  abated.  Only  at  times,  as  ye  see,  there  is 
a  lack.  Therefore,  provoke  him  not.  For  whoso  doth,  it 
is  at  his  own  peril.  His  wife  shall  be  a  widow,  his  soul 
go  to  its  own  place,  and  that  without  benefit  of  clergy — 
of  which,  to  my  ripe  knowledge  the  feck  of  you  stand  in 
sore  need ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

A   PRINCE   AMONG    HAMMERMEN 

In  the  smithy  of  the  Three  Thorns,  MaHse  McKim  drew 
his  sons  together.  It  was  the  morning  after  his  interview 
with  the  King,  very  early.  All  night  the  old  man  had 
walked  about  by  the  lochside  and  I  had  kept  him  in  sight 
till  the  dawning  of  the  day.  The  sky  of  midnight  had 
been  clear  with  faint  pearl-grey  clouds,  high  and  rare 
in  the  zenith.  The  loch  gleamed  at  our  feet  like  half- 
polished  steel,  flat  and  without  ripple  to  the  dark  woods  of 
Gelston.  Meantime,  my  mother,  Dame  Barbara — her  hair, 
that  had  been  raven  black  with  scarce  a  grey  hair,  now 
flaxen  white — watched  stealthily  from  the  cottage  door 
listening  to  the  the  steadfast  tramp-tramp  of  her  hus- 
band's feet  along  the  narrow  shingle  and  over  the  green 
knolls.  She,  too,  had  followed  the  camp,  and  had  arrived 
at  the  Three  Thorns  the  third  day  after  the  pitching  of 
the  tents.  She  spoke  nothing  of  Magdalen,  and  seemed 
altogether  occupied  in  noting  the  changes  in  Malise 
McKim. 

During  the  night  his  wife  had  only  been  prevented 
from  following  him  by  my  urgent  entreaties  and  the 
repeated  assurance  that  I  was  always  behind  him,  ready 
to  prevent  anything  desperate  which  might  suggest  itself 
to  his  troubled  brain. 

So  I  stole  through  the  wood  a  little  above  him,  silent 
as  a  moon  shadow  drifting  over  the  hills.  But  though 
my  father  muttered  much  to  himself  and  drove  his  great 
piked  shepherd's  crook  deep  into  the  clattering  shingle  of 
the  little  lakeside  beaches,  he  did  himself  no  harm — nor, 
I  think,  dreamed  of  it. 

In  the  later  morning,  when  the  light  had  begun  to 
spread  upwards  from  the  east  he  caught  sight  of  Corra 
(who  for  a  while  had  come  to  replace  me)    creeping 

276 


A    PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN      277 

through  some  underbrush,  rather  chimsily,  let  it  be  said. 
He  was  upon  him  in  a  moment,  with  his  staff  upraised. 
"  Dare  you  spy  upon  me,  spawn  of  evil  ? "  he  cried. 
"  I  will  e'en  break  thy  back  for  thee  with  my  clickie !  " 

And  he  would  have  done  it,  too,  had  it  not  been  that 
I  ran  upon  them  from  the  cottage  door,  with  my  mother 
behind  me,  and  each  of  us  seized  an  arm. 

"  Let  Corra  be,"  she  cried,  "  Malise,  my  man,  do  you 
not  understand  ?  We  were  in  a  fever  about  you — the  lad 
did  no  more  than  he  was  bid !  " 

He  stood  leaning  upon  his  staff,  his  chin  upon  the  crook. 

"What  might  ye  have  been  afraid  of?"  he  queried 
slowly  and  gravely,  "  that  I  would  do  myself  an  injury?  " 

He  turned  about  and  pointed  over  the  trees  upon  the 
ridge,  ink-black  against  the  brightening  west, 

"Do  myself  an  injury?"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  which 
I  loved  not  to  hear ;  "  nay,  be  at  rest — not  till  my  work 
is  done ! " 

Then  to  his  wife,  our  mother,  he  said :  "  Go  thy  ways, 
goodwife.  Make  the  lads  porridge  and  stir  them  weel. 
Let  a  driblet  or  two  of  meal  slip  between  thy  fingers. 
For  the  lumps  in  a  bowl  of  porridge  are  the  strength 
thereof.  They  make  the  bones  of  men.  Now  I  would 
speak  to  the  lads — yea,  while  there  is  time  and  the  clear- 
ness of  the  morning  in  my  head." 

And  with  that  he  led  the  way  to  the  smithy. 

Eastward,  day  was  just  beginning  to  break  across  the 
little  group  of  huts  at  the  end  of  King  Edward's  Cause- 
way, that  ancient  paved  road  which  he  made  through 
the  moss  of  Cuill  and  across  the  shallows  of  Carlinwark. 
My  father  began  to  speak. 

"  Over  yonder,"  he  said,  jerking  his  thumb  behind  his 
shoulder  towards  the  camp  of  the  King,  "  there  be  a  many 
fine  gentlemen  and  well-attired  lords,  and,  chief  of  all, 
his  Majesty  of  the  Fiery  Face,  Bloody  Hand,  and — 
brain  of  a  poll  parrot — to  whom,  in  the  meantime,  I 
wish  long  life  and  much  success !  Lads,  I  serve  him 
and  them  till  the  time  appointed — then  I  serve  no  more !  " 

Then  he  laughed  again;  but  this  time  silently  and  to 
himself. 


278  MAY   MARGARET 

"  But  that  which  we  wait  for  we  must  work  for.  And 
it  is  not  in  the  possible  of  siccan  grand  lads,  with  their 
changes  of  apparel  three  times  a  day,  their  pennons  and 
gonfalons  going  before,  to  bring  doon  yon  auld  prood 
castle  o'  Thrieve,  fenced  aboot  wi'  Dee  Water,  drumly 
after  flood,  or  crystal-clear  after  spate ! 

"  Na,  nor  is  there  a  man  in  a'  the  hosts  of  the  King, 
frae  the  Bennan  to  Carlinwark  Hill,  that  can  match 
Sholto  McKim,  my  son  and  your  brither.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  laid  upon  me  that  yonder  castle  must  fall.  And  as 
to  that  I  have  a  thought  here !  " 

He  paused  a  long  while  after  this,  so  that  the  sun, 
throwing  a  sudden  beam  in  at  the  smiddy  door,  caused 
the  shadow  of  an  anvil,  with  a  forehammer  leaning  against 
it,  to  start  across  the  floor  of  beaten  earth  and  iron 
filings. 

"  Lads,"  he  said,  "  we  maun  make  a  cannon,  like  to 
nane  that  hath  heretofore  been  upon  the  earth — a  bom- 
bard that  shall  throw  a  great  ball,  such  as  no  man  can 
lift,  miles  and  miles  across  land  and  water !  " 

The  lads  (who,  for  all  their  being  called  "  boys," 
"  lads,"  and  so  forth,  were  all  well  over  their  twenty-first 
year)  looked  at  one  another  with  sudden  glances,  full  of 
meaning,  which  I  could  interpret  right  well.  They 
thought  that  the  want  in  the  mind  had  come  upon  him 
once  again.     But  I  knew  better. 

"  Yes,  my  father,"  I  answered  him,  "  I  have  heard  of 
such  as  being  forged  in  the  realm  of  Germany.  They 
are  made  of  great  gauds  of  iron,  each  separately  forged, 
welded  together,  bound  about  with  iron  bands,  and  finally 
compacted  with  wedges  thrust  within  the  rings !  " 

"Of  what  size  are  these  German  cannon?"  demanded 
Malise  the  smith. 

"  Of  the  greatness  that  a  man  may  knit  his  fingers  and 
thrust  his  hand  with !  "  I  answered. 

My  father  rose  and  took  a  turn  within  the  narrow 
limits  of  the  smithy,  which  he  did  of  habitude,  turning 
and  walking,  avoiding  all  the  time,  without  any  observ- 
ance, the  pieces  of  armour  and  stands  of  arms  scattered 
about.      For,  though  he  was  in  all  ways  a  man  so  great 


A    PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN       279 

in  stature  and  thickness,  he  moved  lightly  as  a  cat,  and 
that  even  to  his  latest  days. 

"  Laurence,  you  say  well,"  he  answered,  "  but  what  is 
an  engine  like  that?  Thrieve  Castle  is  no  iron  broth-pot, 
nor  a  basin  of  red  baked  clay  to  be  battered  with  cobble 
stones  over  Dee  Water.  The  cannon  we  shall  fashion 
must  be  of  a  greatness  so  that  twelve  strong  horses  shall 
have  hard  work  to  drag  it  over  a  made  road.  And  instead 
of  a  man's  fist,  or  even  his  joined  neives,  he  shall  be  able 
to  thrust  his  whole  body  therein  with  his  sark  upon  his 
back  and  his  hose  on  his  feet!  " 

The  lads  looked  on  in  silent  amazement.  Malise  turned 
to  them. 

"  Aye,  aye,  we  McKims  shall  do  it !  Seven  great  forge 
fires  shall  there  be  on  the  shore  of  the  Carlinwark — to 
each  of  us  one.  With  our  arms  shall  we  work  at  the 
metal,  but  the  King's  men  shall  make  a  high  fence — 
John  Johnstone  the  joiner  and  his  loons  clacking  and 
hammering  nails,  so  that  all  shall  keep  their  distance — 
aye,  even  the  King's  own  majesty — till  the  work  be 
finished  and  complete.  Also  the  camp  followers  shall 
bring  us  fuel,  and  we  will  work  till  we  die — or  the  work 
be  done !  " 

"  But — but — but — !  "  began  the  lads,  "  we  have  never 
made  or  even  seen  any  powder  guns  greater  than  these 
culverins  of  bronze " 

Malise  McKim  siezed  a  hammer,  and  swung  it  in  his 
hand. 

"  Hear  ye,  Corra,  Dun,  Herries,  and  the  rest,"  he 
shouted,  "  do  as  I  bid  you ! — or  by  St.  Bride,  I  will 
make  a  row  of  herring  heads  of  you  nailed  against  the 
smiddy  wa'  !  Have  I  spent  my  labour  in  vain — in  the 
begetting  of  windle-staws,  in  rearing  a  cleckan  of  peeping 
pullets,  fit  only  to  pick  corn-seed  about  a  barn-door?  Am 
I  not  the  Master  Smith?  Am  I  not  Malise  McKim? 
And  shall  a  crew  of  loons,  scarce  breeched  and  scantily 
bearded,  dare  to  crake  and  craw  at  me  when  I  set  them 
their  tasks  and  piece-work?  To  your  day's  darg  like 
good  hammermen !  Strike  hard !  Say  naught !  Lau- 
rence and  1  will  to  the  King !  " 


28o  MAY    MARGARET 

And  to  the  King  he  went. 

It  was  not  far.  Upon  the  ridge  of  CarHnwark,  to  the 
right,  behind  the  great  beech  tree  which  broke  the  westerly 
wind  from  the  cottage  of  the  Three  Thorns,  rose  the 
royal  pavilion,  with  the  Lion  of  Scotland  in  front. 
Those  of  his  chief  lords,  Angus,  Morton,  Crichton,  Hunt- 
ley, with  their  several  ensigns,  were  disposed  irregularly 
about. 

James  of  the  Fiery  Face  was  early  astir.  Indeed,  so 
far  as  I  ken,  none  of  the  Stewarts  were  long  liers  abed. 
He  met  us  in  the  doorway  of  his  tent,  and  at  once  bade 
all  men  go  forth  from  him,  save  Crichton  only. 

This  last  proved  to  be  a  little  wizened  cunning  man 
with  the  visage  of  a  monkey,  but  he  looked  at  us  with 
a  pair  of  the  brightest  eyes  that  ever  were  seen  in  the 
realm  of  Scotland. 

At  the  sight  of  him  and  the  King's  ardent  commendation 
of  his  qualities,  I  could  see  the  dull  red  fires  glow  up  in 
my  father's  eyes. 

"  A  cup  of  wine  with  you,  Malise,"  said  the  King,  "  and 
you,  young  slip  of  lear,  wha  for  your  misdeeds,  wants  a 
name  to  your  tail — what  do  you  with  our  Master 
Armourer?  " 

"What  do  you  with  that?"  said  my  father,  somewhat 
truculently  and  a  great  deal  insolently,  pointing  his  finger 
at  Crichton,  who  sat  at  a  table  turning  over  some  papers 
diligently. 

"  Why,  man,  he  is  in  some  sort  a  head-piece  to  me," 
"said  the  King,  humouring  the  old  man ;  "  'tis  well  kenned 
that  mine  own  is  no  great  things !  " 

"  And  even  so  is  this  youth  mine,"  answered  my  father 
swiftly,  "  though,"  he  added  more  slowly,  "  I  do  admit  he 
is  a  master  craftsman  also,  having  studied  the  art  of  iron 
in  France  and  other  countries." 

For  I  had  bound  over  my  fathers  and  brothers  not  to 
reveal  who  I  was. 

The  King  called  a  pantler  out  of  the  household  train, 
and  bade  him  fetch  a  flagon  of  wine,  of  which  he  poured 
out  a  full  cup. 

But  Malise  put  it  away  from  him. 


A   PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN      281 

"  Give  such  like  to  the  young,"  he  said.  "  I  will  drink  no 
wine  and  eat  only  such  meat  as  is  necessary  for  the  sus- 
taining of  my  body  till  the  castle  yonder  is  in  our 
hands." 

''  And  have  you  gotten  that  troublesome  thought  safely 
out  of  your  head,  ingoted,  and  laid  on  anvil,  eh,  Master 
Smith  ?  "  demanded  the  King,  smiling. 

"  Ye  shall  hear,  King  James  Stewart !  "  he  answered. 
"  'Tis  ingoted,  barred,  and  ready  for  the  fire  and  hammer- 
stroke.  Listen !  I  have  much  good  iron  in  the  shed  of 
the  smithy  under  the  trees.  I  expected  that  it  would  serve 
my  lifetime.  In  the  town  of  Kirkcudbright  there  is  much 
more.  Only,  I  pray  you,  give  us  men  to  build  an  enclosure 
about  our  forge-hearth,  for  we  would  not  be  fashed  in  our 
labour." 

"  And  what,"  said  the  King,  "  is  this  your  labour  of 
which  you  speak  ?  " 

"  King  James,"  said  the  smith,  "  I  have  promised  to 
serve  you  and  to  be  your  man  till  the  Castle  of  Thrieve 
fall  and  the  lord  thereof  comes  by  his  deserts.  I  will 
make  you  a  cannon  greater  than  any  in  the  world.  This 
young  man,  having  travelled  far  and  near,  hath  seen  the 
like — only  in  little — in  the  German  camps  in  the  Low 
Countries !  But  I  will  make  a  cannon  which  shall  send  a 
ball  from  where  we  stand  to  the  battering  down  of  yon 
high  towers  of  Thrieve — aye,  farther  an  ye  will " 

"  Malise,  Malise,"  said  the  King  reproachfully,  "  I  had 
expected  more  and  better  than  this  mad  ploy.  The  thing 
is  clean  impossible.  The  like  was  never  seen  in  this  realm 
or  in  any  other." 

My  father  erected  himself,  squaring  his  great  shoulders 
till  they  seemed  almost  to  reach  the  breadth  of  the 
pavilion. 

"  King  of  Scots,"  he  said  with  solemnity,  "  you  are  a 
man,  I  am  a  man.  Your  name  is  James  Stewart,  mine 
Malise  McKim !  Hath  ye  seen  or  heard  aught  to  gar  ye 
think  your  royal  word  better  than  the  word  of  Malise 
the  smith  of  Carlinwark !  " 

"  Methinks  the  comparison  would  lean  somewhat  heav- 
ily to  your  side  of  the  balance,  good  Master  Armourer ! " 


282  MAY    MARGARET 

said  the  King  good-humouredly.  "  Not  at  all  times  can  a 
King  keep  his  word.  He  hath  those  about  him,  like  my 
excellent  Chancellor  at  the  table  there,  who  will  not  let 
him!" 

And  I  thought  that  a  dry  smile  passed  over  the  face  of 
Crichton,  who  nevertheless  continued  to  occupy  himself 
with  parchments  and  various  writings.  As  for  me,  I 
was  in  an  agony  of  fear  lest  my  father  should  say  some- 
thing to  the  King  about  the  safe  conduct  which  he  had 
given,  writ  with  his  own  hand,  signed  with  his  name  and 
seal,  to  William  of  Douglas,  when  he  brought  him  to 
Stirling  to  meet  his  death.  But  Malise  the  smith  was 
appeased  by  King  James's  answer,  and,  after  brooding  a 
little,  laid  the  whole  plan  and  design  of  the  great  cannon 
before  him. 

"  I  have  here  at  the  Carlinwark  six  sons,"  he  said  in 
conclusion,  "  and  that  we  will  forge  you  the  cannon  I 
put  their  heads  and  mine  own  in  the  balance.  Let  your 
headsman  sharpen  his  blade  for  us    if  we  fail !  " 

"And  if  you  succeed?"  asked  Crichton,  looking  up 
with  a  sudden  brightening  of  his  countenance,  "  you  seven 
will  all  need  an  earldom  at  least.  It  is  the  fashion  now- 
adays !  " 

"  Nay ,"    answered    Malise    McKim     slowly,    "  not 

an  earldom,  nor  yet  a  chancellorship,  my  lord  of  Crichton 
— nor  any  reward  in  lands  or  siller.  But  only — five  min- 
utes alone  with  James  Douglas !  " 

"  That  you  shall  have  and  welcome !  "  said  the  King. 
"  But  why  do  you  not  ask  for  the  life  of  your  son  who  is 
in  rebellion  ?  " 

"  That  will  I  not,"  said  Malise  McKim.  "  I  have  told 
you  before,  King  of  Scots,  the  young  man  serves  not 
James  Douglas  but  the  Lady  Margaret,  his  true  mistress. 
He  will  serve  you  as  well.  Had  he  been  in  rebellion, 
would  he  have  been  lacking  at  Arkinholm?" 

"  Malise,"  cried  the  King,  laughing,  "  I  had  not  thought 
you  so  subtle  in  thy  reasons.  This  lad  in  black  must  have 
quickened  thee,  as  Crichton  doth  my  own  sluggish  harn- 
pan.  But  all  the  same,  may  the  saints  confound  that 
Sholto  of  thine — rebel  or  no  rebel — traitor  or  loyal  sub- 


A    PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN      283 

ject — I  wot  well  that  he  is  giving  us  a  huge  deal  of 
trouble  in  the  midst  of  this  wild  Galloway.  And,  spite 
of  thy  cannon,  no  man  yet  sees  how  it  will  end !  " 

So  that  very  night  on  the  shore  of  Carlinwark  seven 
great  forges  were  set  up.  In  the  woods  of  Buittle  and 
Borgue  men  black  to  the  eye-holes  made  charcoal  for  the 
fires  that  burned  night  and  day.  And  we  seven  McKims 
shut  ourselves  out  from  the  world — by  day  in  a  hot  and 
panting  purgatory  of  burning  sun  and  blowing  fires.  At 
night  it  was  a  little  better.  The  deep  glow  of  the  forges 
was  reflected  on  the  still  waters  of  the  loch,  and  the  clang 
of  the  forehammers  was  heard  afar.  Mostly  we  seven 
were  stripped  and  blackened  to  the  waist  with  coal  and 
grime,  and  I  warrant  well  that  mine  own  almoner  at 
Sweetheart  Abbey  would  not  have  known  his  sometime 
abbot  had  he  met  him  these  days  'twixt  vespers  and 
prime. 

Above  on  the  slope,  it  was  the  nightly  amusement  of 
the  soldiers,  and  even  of  many  young  scions  of  the  nobil- 
ity, to  cluster  along  the  ridge  and  look  down  upon  us  at 
our  travail — now  black  against  the  firelight,  anon  our 
faces  and  swart  naked  limbs  lit  up  with  the  leaping  flames. 
Demons  of  the  nether  pit  could  have  looked  little  other- 
wise, as,  escaping  for  a  moment,  we  ran  to  the  white 
cottage,  demanding  drink  from  our  mother,  who,  on  her 
part,  poor  woman,  slept  little,  watching  my  father,  and, 
like  him,  wearing  herself  out.  But  she  for  love  even  as 
he  for  hate. 

So  the  great  iron  gauds  to  make  the  body  of  the  bom- 
bard were  forged  in  such  a  turmoil  as  never  before  or 
since  have  mine  eyes  beheld,  or  my  ears  been  deaved 
withal.  We  began  to  put  the  great  cannon  together,  and 
not  till  then  did  the  mighty  proportions  of  the  monster 
appear,  taking  shape  dimly  through  the  swelter. 

Then  came  a  period  of  yet  fiercer  excitement.  So  long 
as  we  were  merely  working  at  the  forging  of  the  bars, 
each  man  had  to  heat  and  hammer  by  himself,  or,  at  most, 
with  only  one  associate.  But  when  at  last  the  monster 
began  to  take  actual  shape,  and  we  saw  before  us  the 


284  MAY   MARGARET 

mighty  maw  which  should  soon  begin  to  vomit  destruc- 
tion, and  the  vast  of  the  cavern  which  would  hold  (as  my 
father  had  truly  said)  the  body  of  a  man,  we  could  scarce 
stay  ourselves  from  shouting  aloud, 

"  Bide,"  said  my  father  grimly.  "  There  is  the  pick  and 
flower  of  the  work  yet  to  do.  The  iron  rings  are  yet 
to  be  shrunk  upon  her,  and  many  a  stiff  back  and  many  a 
wet-wringing  brow  shall  ye  hae  afore  that  be  through 
with,  lads  of  mine !  " 

I  mind  the  night  yet  when  the  last  band  was  fitted.  It 
chanced  that,  without  our  observing  it,  the  wood  and  char- 
coal had  gotten  dangerously  near  to  the  bottom  of  the 
pile. 

Also,  though  my  father  knew  it  not  (and  we  dared 
not  tell  him),  the  Borgue  men  had  not  arrived  with  fresh 
loads — being  more  than  two  days  behind,  drinking  of 
acquavit  at  some  dyke-back  belike,  after  their  kind.  And 
so  when  the  master  band  of  all  was  to  be  put  about  the 
cavernous  breech,  where  the  force  of  the  powder  would 
spend  itself  most  fiercely — lo !  the  fires  were  in  danger  of 
falling  low ! 

Then  my  father,  who  throughout  had  scarce  spoken  at 
all,  save  only  to  give  his  orders,  went  like  a  man 
demented,  and  bade  pull  down  the  ancient  smithy  of  Car- 
linwark,  and  burn  the  beams  for  fuel.  And  as  he  stood 
there  with  naught  upon  him  save  the  great  leathern  apron 
twisted  about  his  middle  to  serve  for  a  breech-clout,  black 
from  top  to  toe  with  the  forge  sweat  and  charcoal  grime,  I 
doubt  if  even  James  Stewart  would  have  hesitated  about 
obeying  him,  if  he  had  bidden  tear  down  and  burn  Holy- 
rood  House  itself. 

At  any  rate  we  who  underlay  his  wrath  did  not  lose  a 
moment,  and  we  were  a-tearing  an'  a-scrambling  at  the 
roof  before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth.  Yet 
for  all  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  much  happier  I  was, 
astride  upon  one  beam  and  hacking  at  another,  than 
ever  I  had  been  sitting  in  my  chair  in  the  abbey  of  Sweet- 
heart with  the  chaunted  psalms  and  the  incense  going  up 
about  me  in  clouds  of  holy  scent  and  sound. 

Well,    we    fetched   it    down    with    a    run,   and   clumsy 


h..^-!^.. 


ai 
w 
H 
tn 

3 

U 

o 

h 


Z 

p 

LLl 

^ 

3 

Q 

_3 

Z 

O 

^ 

c/o 

> 

o 

U] 

Q 

X 

r- 

b^ 

O 

u. 

o 

O 

J 

H 

Q 

Z 

2 

u 

< 

S 

u 

UJ 

C/3 

D 

Q 

< 

S 

>. 

'M 

J 

X 

h 

H 

X 

U 

O 

Z 

S 

O 

■J 

UJ 

< 

X 

h 

CO 

< 

^ 

H 


A    PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN      285 

Corra,  tramping  bullock-like  along  the  rigging,  well-nigh 
"broke  his  neck  by  falling  through.  So  we  brought  the 
rafters,  tinder  dry  and  brown  with  many  generations  of 
smithy  fires,  and  thrust  them  into  the  furnace. 

"  More  and  more ! "  shouted  my  father,  lifting  and 
feeding  as  if  the  house  beams  had  been  but  so  much 
Icitchen  firewood. 

"  He  will  have  the  cottage  itself  about  our  heads  in 
another  moment,"  quoth  my  mother.  "  Laurence,  go  get 
him  wood  or  he  will  tear  down  the  house  of  the  Three 
Thorns  as  he  hath  done  to  the  smiddy.  And  even  when 
I  am  deep  under  sod,  I  want  to  think  o'  the  gable  of  the 
bonny  house,  where  we  two  used  to  sit  and  talk,  cleeked 
close  on  the  bench  he  made,  the  first  year  we  were  marriet ! 
Find  him  wood,  Laurence.  Bring  it  to  him !  Haste  ye, 
Laurence,  haste  ye  !  " 

So  I  gat  hold  of  Herries  and  a  strong  country  lad  or 
two  from  without  the  barriers,  and  tore  down  the 
fences  which  the  King's  carpenters  had  put  up.  There 
was  a  great  crowd  of  the  curious  all  about.  Then  when 
I  made  my  choice  of  helpers  they  pressed  forward.  But 
I  bade  them  go  back  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  for  that 
Malise  McKim  would  crack  a  man's  skull  that  night,  as 
it  were  an  egg-shell,  if  he  found  him  where  he  had  no 
business  to  be. 

And  one  behind  them,  wrapped  in  a  great  cloak,  cried 
out  for  all  to  stand  back  and  that  he  would  help  us  him- 
self. Which,  being  evidently  of  some  authority  among 
them,  he  did,  tearing  down  the  boards  and  pales  of  the 
enclosure  and  carrying  them  on  his  back  to  the  door  of  the 
cannon  shed,  but  no  further. 

"  I  have  desire  to  look  once,"  he  said,  when  at  last  we 
had  finished.     "  L^t  that  be  my  reward !  " 

So  I  told  him  to  keep  well  behind  Herries,  and  he 
looked  within.  It  was  indeed  a  ferlie  worth  seeing  that 
he  saw — Malise  the  great  smith  leaping  and  striking  with 
six  attendant  demons  all  pulling  and  thrusting,  and,  as  it 
seemed,  passing  their  bodies  through  the  fires  of  hell 
ten  times  in  a  minute.  The  sparks  flew  great  as  crown 
pieces.     The  flames  danced  upward  in  coils  and  spikes. 


286  MAY    MARGARET 

And  in  the  background  the  great  black  monster  stood 
waiting  her  last  neck-band. 

"  Here,  Corra — Herries !  All  is  ready !  "  shouted  my 
father.  "  Come,  Laurence,  and  the  rest  of  you — seven 
McKims,  all  working  as  one,  to  avenge  the  shame  of  our 
house !     Would  to  God  there  had  been  eight !  " 

He  called  us  seven,  and  spoke  to  me  as  if  I  had  been 
there. 

And  lo !  when  I  looked,  with  eyes  dazzled  by  the  light,  it 
is  true,  I  could  count  seven  McKims  in  the  forge,  where,, 
wanting  me,  there  should  only  have  been  six. 

"  Laurence,  Laurence,  strike  with  me,  lad,  for  the  last 
welding !  "  cried  my  father,  evidently  believing  that  I 
was  by  his  side. 

I  could  not  understand  it.  Nevertheless,  I  had  per- 
force to  shuffle  our  helper  away  to  the  gap  in  the  fence 
out  of  my  father's  eye-shot,  as  well  as  to  get  back  to  do 
my  part.  But  as  we  reached  the  place  a  crowd  of  curious 
had  entered,  and  stood  gaping  and  gazing,  whom  our 
helper  hotly  ordered  back. 

But  one,  being  of  the  insolent,  ignorant  sort,  common  in 
camps,  called  out,  "  Well  for  you,  crane's  neck,  hook-nose 
— yon  have  seen  !  We  saw  you  peep  within.  We  will  not 
go  back,  nor  take  our  orders  from  you  ?  Who  are  you  to 
make  good  soldiers  of  my  Lord  Angus  jump  hither  and 
thither  at  your  orders,  and  tumble  somersaults  like  puppy 
dogs?" 

"  That  I  will  show  you !  "  said  the  man,  and  dropped 
his  cloak.     And  it  zvas  the  King! 

Then   every   man   gat   him   behind   his   neighbour,   all 
trying  to  appear  as  if  they  had  come  out  solely  to  gaze 
upon  the  stars.     At  another  time  I  would  have  laughed, 
but  then  I  had  other  most  unhumorous  business  to  my 
hand. 

"  Provost  Marshal,"  cried  the  King,  "  take  that  man 
and  make  him  discover  how  easy  it  is  to  jump  hither  and 
thither — aye,  and  for  a  good  soldier  of  my  Lord  Angus's 
to  tumble  somersaults  like  a  puppy  dog !  " 

And  so,  with  red  flame  and  clangour  infinite,  the  great 
cannon  was  forged.     It  is  the  same  which  is  called  Mons, 


A   PRINCE   AMONG   HAMMERMEN      287 

or  Mollance  Meg,  after  my  father's  landed  property,  and 
stands  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh  to  this  day  to  witness 
if  I  lie. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  End  of  the  Portion  of  History  writ  by  the  Young  Man 

in  Black. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

WHEREIN    MARGARET   DOUGLAS   AGAIN    TAKES    UP   THE 
TALE — SHOLTO   ALSO    IS    A    m'kIM 

And  in  the  meantime  how  passed  the  days  and  weeks 
and  months  on  the  high  bastions  and  in  the  higher  keep 
of  Thrieve? 

I  will  try  to  tell. 

Every  morn  Maud  and  I  went  up  to  the  roof  to  see 
the  muster  of  the  King's  troops,  which  was  like  a  pageant. 
There  were  trumpets  that  blew,  and  banners  that  waved, 
and  knights  and  horses  all  covered  with  cloth  of  red  and 
gold — a  gallant  sight,  and  one  which  Maud  and  I  (being 
as  much  children  as  any)  were  never  tired  of  watching, 
so  long,  that  is,  as  Sholto  assured  us  that  there  was  no 
danger. 

At  times  James  Douglas  would  come  up  to  the  roof 
battlements ;  but,  like  one  outcasted  and  desolate,  he 
would  abide  in  a  place  by  himself,  speaking  with  none,  or 
only  with  the  officers  and  soldiery  of  the  garrison.  Some- 
times one  of  the  children  would  run  to  take  his  hand  and 
talk,  of  which  he  seemed  glad. 

When  he  met  Sholto,  the  Captain  of  the  Guard  of 
Thrieve  saluted  gravely,  and  stood  listening.  Then,  if 
the  Earl  put  a  question,  Sholto  answered  it  in  so  many 
words;  but  if  not,  he  would  salute  again,  and  betake  him- 
self to  the  outposts  or  to  the  dungeon  of  Archibald  the 
Grim,  which,  with  purposes  of  his  own,  he  was  wholly 
refitting,  strengthening  even  the  walls,  doubling  the  thick- 
ness of  the  top  in  solid  stone  and  lime,  and  providing  for 
view  and  air  by  narrow  slits,  through  which  one  could 
scarce  thrust  one's  hand  edgewise. 

One  day  to  try  him,  I  asked  Sholto  if  he  meant  to  shut 
up  the  King  of  Scots  in  Archibald  the  Grim. 

288 


MARGARET  TAKES  UP  THE  TALE   289 

"  Nay,"  he  answered  me  at  once ;  "  but  some  few 
things  far  more  precious !  " 

One  day,  being  in  my  ancient  south-looking  chamber, 
of  which  the  fear  had  gradually  grown  away  (though  I 
admit  that  even  then  I  liked  not  to  sleep  there),  I  heard 
the  noise  of  voices  beneath,  on  the  balcony.  The  window 
was  open  and  I  seated  idly  with  my  hands  in  my  lap.  I 
could  not  help  but  hear. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  men  proved  to  be  Sholto  McKim  and  James  Doug- 
las, my  husband,  who  spoke  on  the  platform  of  stone 
beneath  my  windows. 

"  What  think  you.  Sir  Sholto,"  said  the  Earl.  **  shall  we 
hold  it  or  no  ?  They  make  no  progress.  Their  trumpet- 
ings,  their  shooting  of  arrow  flights,  their  cracking  of 
pop-guns — what  are  these  as  against  the  solid  walls  of 
Thrieve  and  the  strong  virgin  defences  of  the  isle  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Sholto  did  not  answer,  and  I  could 
clearly  hear  the  soothing  Jmsh  of  the  Dee  over  its  shallows 
at  the  bridge-end.     Then  he  spoke. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  we  have  seen,  as  you  say,  many 
useless  marches  and  counter-marches !  We  have  repelled 
feints  of  attack,  and  barkened  to  many  summonses  to 
surrender  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  the  King.  Yet  no 
man  in  the  garrison  is  grievously  hurt,  while  those  of 
lis  who  have  been  smitten  owe  their  wounds  mostly  to 
their  own  recklessness.  But  there  is  one  thing  concern- 
ing which  my  mind  is  not  easy." 

"And  that?"  said  the  Earl,  idly  chipping  little  bits 
of  the  plaster  and  skimming  them  over  the  wall. 

*'  It  is,"  said  Sholto,  "  that  in  all  these  things  we  see 
naught  of  Malise  McKim,  my  father,  nor  yet  of  his  sons, 
my  brothers !  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  small  need  to  concern  oneself  with  that," 
said  the  Earl,  "  they  have  gone  afield  to  raise  more  troops. 
Or  mayhap,  there  lies  a  sorrow  upon  their  minds  to  help 
in  breaking  down  that  which  they  have  built  up — I  mean 
because  the  McKims  have  been  Master  Armourers  at 
Thrieve,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  since  the  world  began." 

Sholto    gazed    long   at   James    Douglas.     I    could   not 


290  MAY    MARGARET 

see  his  face,  but  I  knew  well  the  way  he  would  look. 
About  this  time  his  master  was  a  constant  surprise  to  him 
— his  unconscious  brutality  of  selfishness,  the  crassness 
of  his  judgment  in  all  that  concerned  others — in  especial, 
the  fatal  lightness  of  his  mind,  habiting  a  body  so  strong 
and  so  fair,  joined  to  a  nature  so  truly  courageous  as 
between  man  and  man,  yet  so  self-seeking  and  contracted 
towards  women  and  God !  All  this  joined  in  one  per- 
son, might  well  make  Sholto  McKim  marvel.  True.  I 
knew  James  Douglas  over  well.  I  had  long  gotten  over 
my  wondering. 

"  You  think  that  my  father  will  come  back  to  you — 
that  after  a  time  he  will  forgive — let  all  be  as  it  was?"' 
Sholto  stammered,  scarce  knowing  what  to  say. 

James  Douglas  moved  uneasily,  I  knew  exactly  how. 
I  could  feel  him,  though  see  him  I  could  not. 

"  No,  not  that,"  he  said  ;  "  so  much  no  man  could  expect. 
But  some  token  of  forgiving — some  kindly  remembrance, 
some  returning  loyalty  toward  the  House  his  fathers 
served — so  much  seems  to  me  by  no  means  unreason- 
able !  " 

Sholto  nodded,  with  what  of  grim  countenance  I  could 
guess.  Even  by  leaning  out  I  could  see  no  more  than 
the  peak  of  the  plain  steel  cap  in  which  he  made  his 
rounds. 

"  No,  it  is  not  impossible,"  he  said  slowly.  "  There  is 
hov.'ever,  one  condition." 

"And  what  might  that  condition  be?"  cried  James 
Douglas.  (As  he  spoke  I  could  hear  the  returning  hope 
in  his  voice.  It  hurt  him  that  men  should  not  approve 
him.) 

"  That  he  should  see  One  Man  lie  dead! " 

I  felt  the  question  tr-emble  on  James  Douglas's  lips. 
But  it  was  not  put.  The  prophet's  "  Thou  art  the  man  !  " 
was  not  an  answer  which  he  desired  to  hear  from  the 
lips  of  his  truth-speaking  Captain  of  the  Guard. 

Abruptly  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 
Sholto  McKim  was  left  behind,  leaning  one  elbow  on  the 
stone  baluster  and  gazing  pensively  across  the  water- 
meadows    towards    the    ridge    of    Carlinwark,    where. 


MARGARET  TAKES  UP  THE  TALE   291 

through  the  pale  purple  of  the  gloaming,  certain  red 
bursts  of  flame  sent  a  ruddy  "  skarrow  "  vibrating  aloft 
to  the  lower  clouds. 

Long  and  carefully  Sholto  watched.  The  night  grew 
rapidly  darker — chiller  also.  The  light  in  the  east  waxed 
more  and  more  lurid.  There  came  a  noise  of  shouting 
on  the  breeze. 

"That  is  my  father!"  said  Sholto  aloud.  "I  must  go 
and  see  what  he  is  about !  " 

All  the  same  he  went  his  rounds  with  a  little  more  than 
his  usual  care.  Then  he  came  up  by  the  turret  stairs, 
kissed  the  babes  who  were  asleep  in  their  cots,  sat  a  while 
by  Marcelle's  trundle-bed  to  talk  over  the  events  of  the 
day  as  was  his  wont — how  a  new  blazon  had  been  seen 
in  front  of  a  troop  which  rode  past  the  castle  on  the 
Balmaghie  shore — how  a  certain  bullock  in  the  byres,. 
Red  Jock  by  name,  had  gotten  a  narrow  wound  in  his 
heel,  which  she  had  helped  to  bind,  in  spite  of  the  un- 
thankful and  ill-behaved  kicking  and  plunging  of  the 
patient. 

Then  descending,  Sholto  said  a  quiet  courtly  word  to 
me  in  the  great  hall,  kissed  Maud  his  wife,  and  (here  all 
we  knew  at  the  time  finishes)  dressed  himself  in  country- 
man's garb,  crossed  the  Dee  Water  to  the  southward^ 
where,  among  the  marshes  the  enemy's  watch-huts  were 
few  and  ill-tended — only  some  few  folk  of  Solway  Moss 
abiding  there,  and  even  they  having  mostly  removed 
themselves  over  to  the  Carlinwark  on  the  chance  of  pick- 
ing the  King's  supper  bones,  and  getting  a  peep  at  the 
works  of  Malise  the  Smith  over  the  palisades  of  the  Three 
Thorns, 

So  Sholto,  to  whom  all  the  bogs  and  marshes,  with 
their  green  "  quaas  "  slimy  and  mysterious,  their  humpy 
islands  of  crumbling  peat,  their  blind  leads  of  ink-black 
water,  stagnant  and  oily — were  familiar,  who  knew  them 
as  a  man  that  rises  in  the  night  knows  his  way  back  to 
his  bed — found  little  difficulty  in  outwitting  and  outstrip- 
ping the  guards  to  the  south  of  the  Isle  of  Thrieve.  An 
arrow  whistled  in  his  wake  once  or  twice.  A  cur  barked 
as  he  crossed  its  wind  within  a  few  yards  of  a  Lochar 


2y2  I^IAY    MARGARET 

man's  post,  striding  onward,  contemptuous  of  such  sol- 
diering. Brief,  in  less  than  an  hour,  Sholto,  his  face 
blackened  with  grime  which  he  knew  where  to  seek  on 
the  rubbish  heaps  of  the  old  smithy,  stood  among  the 
crowd  outside  the  barriers,  elbowing  and  cursing  with 
the  best,  while  they  watched  the  roaring  of  the  flames 
and  marvelled  at  the  fierce  pulling  down  of  the  ancient 
smithy  for  the  sake  of  the  beams. 

But  the  shed  over  the  great  cannon  balked  his  curiosity 
through  every  crevice  of  which  the  flames  seemed  to 
dart  from  an  interior  filled  to  bursting  with  the  glow  of 
red-hot  metal  and  the  clank  of  hammers. 

"  I  am  the  Captain  of  Thrieve — I  must  see,"  growled 
Sholto.  "  I  am  a  McKim — God's  grace,  see  I  will!  " 

And  while  the  youths  were  still  scrambling  on  the 
rigging  of  the  smithy,  and  while  the  Young  Man  in  Black 
(whose  narrative  has  been  entered  before)  was  tearing 
at  the  palisades  to  keep  up  the  fire,  Sholto  McKim,  unseen 
of  any,  stole  along  the  dark  waterside,  and  in  a  moment 
paused  at  the  door  of  that  Vulcan's  cavern  of  noise  and 
heat  and  flame.  Awhile  he  stood,  stricken  dumb  and 
motionless  with  amazement. 

Then,  seeing  that  certain  of  his  brothers  were  a-miss- 
ing,  and  that  there  needed  someone  to  deal  stroke-and- 
stroke  about  with  his  father,  something  suddenly  pricked 
in  his  heart.  He  thought  of  James  Douglas  as  he  had 
never  done  before.  He  muttered,  "  'Fore  God,  am  not  I 
also  a  McKim  !  I  will  do  my  part !  "  And  with  that  he 
rushed  within,  picked  up  a  forehammer,  and  was  at  his 
ancient  task,  as  of  yore  in  the  unroofed  smithy  a  little 
lower  down  by  the  waterside  of  Carlinwark. 

He  it  was  of  whom  the  Young  Man  in  Black  caught 
a  glimpse  ere  he  returned  from  hearing  the  King  order 
his  Provost  Marshal  to  impress  a  respect  for  kingcraft 
upon  the  insolent  back  of  that  "  good  soldier  of  my 
Lord  of  Angus  " — the  which  (the  fellow  being  a  Douglas 
fighting  against  the  head  of  his  house)  I  trust  the  Pro- 
vost Marshal  achieved  in  due  time  and  with  a  stout  right 
arm. 

And  long  ere  the  morning  light,  Sholto  .McKim,  with 


MARGARET  TAKES  UP  THE  TALE   293 

full  information  as  to  what  the  castle  of  Thrieve  might 
expect  when  the  monster  cannon  was  completed,  lay 
stretched  out  sound  asleep  beside  his  Maud.  Yet  when 
she  waked,  with  the  thought  of  her  ailing  babes  on  her 
mind,  her  husband  said  nothing  to  her  of  his  night  adven- 
tures— nothing  indeed  to  any  of  us.  But  from  that  time 
forth,  the  strengthening  of  the  dungeon  place,  called 
Archibald  the  Grim,  and  the  due  provisioning  of  it  with 
light  and  food  and  air,  were  pushed  forward  with  ten- 
fold speed. 

And  though  I  was  the  first  to  know  of  Sholto's  night 
work,  it  was  not  till  long  afterwards  that  he  told  even 
me  anything. 

Nevertheless,  from  the  cessation  of  the  customary 
attacks  upon  the  outworks  of  the  Isle,  from  the  drawing 
away  of  men  for  purposes  to  us  unseen,  there  fell  an 
uneasy  consciousness  upon  Thrieve  that  something  seri- 
ous was  impending.  The  men  no  longer  sang  behind 
the  fortifications,  but  conferred  in  whispers.  And  every 
night  you  might  see  a  group  of  them  on  the  castle  roof, 
eagerly  looking  towards  the  red  flicker  in  the  sky  which 
told  of  some  notable  work  to  our  disadvantage  going 
on  behind  the  hill  of  Carlinwark. 

We  know  now  what  that  work  was.  It  was  the  makings 
of  the  carriage  for  the  huge  cannon,  called  afterward 
Mons  Meg's  cradle,  and  the  vast  chariot  whereon  to  drag 
her  to  a  hill  just  beyond  the  fords  of  Glenlochar — a  round 
hill  called  at  that  time  the  Byne  of  Camp  Douglas  because 
the  shape  of  it  was  like  an  upturned  basin — but  after- 
wards, and  to  this  day  "  Knockcannon,"  or  the  mount  of 
the  cannon. 

At  last  one  day  we  heard  a  great  shouting  and  affray 
to  the  northward,  and  Sholto,  looking  forth,  made  out  a 
long  procession  keeping  well  in  the  rear  of  the  line  of 
tents  upon  the  Clairbrand  heights.  But  they  could  by  no 
possibility  keep  themselves  hidden  at  the  Fords  of  Lochar. 
For  they  were  bound  to  cross  that  way,  the  water  being^ 
deep  above,  and  the  castle  too  near  and  dangerous  below. 
So  that  we  on  the  topmost  towers  of  Thrieve  could  see 
plainly,  as  it  were,  all  the  King's  horses  and  all  the  King's 


294  MAY    MARGARET 

men,  convoying,  with  pain  and  travail,  what  seemed  a 
great  long  cask  or  barrel  across  the  shallows  of  the  Dee. 

Then  it  was  that  Sholto  spoke,  but  in  few  words. 

"  It  behoves  that  we  keep  good  watch,"  he  said.  "  They 
have  made  a  great  cannon  at  Carlinwark.  I  have  seen  it 
with  these  eyes.  It  may  well  be  that  before  it  the  walls 
•of  the  castle  will  be  as  paper.  But  as  yet  no  man  knows 
whether  the  shot  will  strike  us,  or  whether  the  piece  may 
not  burst  at  the  first  discharge.  But  be  these  things  as 
they  may,  I  have  caused  made  a  place  of  refuge  in  the 
dungeon,  which  no  cannon  shot,  an  it  were  three  times  as 
huge,  could  possibly  break  into.  Thither,  my  Lady  Mar- 
garet, you  will  retire  with  Maud  and  the  babes  when  I 
give  the  word.  But  there  is  yet  enough  of  time.  Much 
remains  for  them  to  do,  and  of  warning,  ere  the  danger 
arrives,  there  will  be  enough  and  to  spare.  They  are  now 
on  a  hill,  and  cannot  be  hid." 

"  In  any  case  I  shall  remain  with  you,  Sholto !  "  said 
Maud  Lindsay. 

"  You  will  obey  your  husband,  wife !  "  retorted  Sholto 
•without  heat. 

At  which  Maud  heaved  a  sigh,  for  she  knew  that  she 
would  indeed  abide  by  the  babes  in  obedience  to  her  hus- 
"band.  He  was,  in  any  case,  a  difficult  person  to  disobey, 
this  same  Sir  Sholto  McKim. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ARCHIBALD    THE    GRIM 

Nevertheless  Sholto  kept  a  diligent  watch  on  those 
things  which  needed  to  be  done  before  the  great  cannon 
could  fire  its  first  shot.  There  were  no  iron  or  leaden  bul- 
lets which  would  suffice  to  fill  the  maw  of  the  ravening 
monster. 

But  Sholto  found  out  by  methods  of  his  own  that  the 
quarrymen  of  the  King  were  busy  cutting  balls  (  '  stone 
from  the  granite  sides  of  the  Bennan  nigh  to  the  dock  of 
Ken,  rolling  them  to  the  foot  and  afterwards  transporting 
them  by  water  to  the  hill  called  the  Byne  of  Camp  Doug- 
las, where  Mons  Megs  in  her  wooden  jacket  stood  waiting 
a  favourable  day  for  beginning  the  battering  of  the  nine- 
foot  thick  walls  of  Thrieve. 

As  for  Earl  James,  he  cared  for  none  of  these  things. 
Thrieve  was  intact.  That  was  enough  for  im.  Every 
outwork  and  bastion  stood  as  it  had  done  at  the  beginning 
of  the  seige.  The  King  had  gained  no  ground.  The 
winter  was  coming  on  fast.  This  talk  of  a  great  cannon 
— pshaw !  Had  he  not  seen  a  dozen  such,  and  one 
good  lance-thrust  or  a  well-swung  battering-ram  was 
worth  them  all.  To  think  that  the  strong  walls  of 
Thrieve,  three  yards  of  stone  and  lime,  could  crumble 
before  a  missile  discharged  from  the  Byne  of  Camp 
Douglas ! — it  was  folly  so  crass  that  no  man  in  his  senses 
could  possibly  consider  it !  These,  in  brief,  were  the 
opinions  of  the  Earl  James. 

Nor  did  Sholto  argue  with  his  master.  He  let  him  go 
where  he  listed,  say  and  do  the  thing  he  desired.  What 
he  himself  occupied  his  time  with  appeared  curious. 
His  absences  were  frequent,  especially  after  the  work- 
men had  finished  the  thickening  of  the  dungeon.  Still 
in  his  countrymen's  dress,  he  climbed  the  long  wooded 
slopes  of  the  Bennan  to  be  present  at  the  shaping  of  the 

295 


296  MAY    MARGARET 

vast  granite  balls  for  the  giantess.  He  knew  when  the 
powder  waggons  were  to  arrive  from  Edinburgh.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  had  gone,  taking  counsel  with  none, 
to  Kirkcudbright  and  there  arranged  for  a  little  coasting 
vessel  to  wait  in  the  Dutchman's  Lake  at  a  place  where 
embarkation  would  be  easy  "  in  case  of  need,"  as  he 
said  to  the  Earl  upon  his  return. 

At  one  time  it  was  his  intention  to  take  us  all  one 
by  one  through  the  marshes  and  put  us  aboard  that  ship. 
But  two  things  stood  in  the  way  of  this. 

Maud  would  not  consent  to  be  separated  from  any 
of  the  children,  and  the  confinement  to  the  castle  dur- 
ing the  long  hot  summer,  the  great  amount  of  water 
stagnant  in  the  ditches  and  defenses,  as  well  as  in  the 
marshes  to  the  south,  had  produced  in  Ulric  and  Baby 
David  a  sort  of  low  lingering  fever. 

At  this  time  Sholto  could  without  much  difficulty 
have  passed  the  Earl  through,  but  a  kind  of  blind  de- 
termination took  hold  of  James — who,  indeed,  all 
through  his  life  had  been  resolute  in  the  wrong  places. 
Flee  to  England  he  would  not!  In  Thrieve  he  would 
abide !  He  had  defied  the  King  long.  He  would  defy 
him  altogether.  To  die — well,  he  was  not  afraid  of 
death !  Death  came  to  every  man.  So  far  his  star  had 
not  deserted  him.  So  here  he  would  abide  and  dree  his 
weird,  and  so  long  as  there  was  a  hoof  of  nowt  behind 
the  Isle  dyke  or  a  flagon  of  Bordeaux  in  the  castle  cellar, 
James  Douglas  would  be  noways  unhappy. 

So  in  Thrieve  we  remained,  watching  with  strange 
feelings  the  enemy's  preparations  for  our  destruction, 
and  above  all,  we  gazed  fascinated  at  that  ominous  shape, 
like  a  hay-wain  with  a  wine  vat  atop,  pointing  at  us  from 
the  Byne  of  Camp  Douglas. 

Yet  the  thing  was  so  little  and  so  far.  It  seemed 
impossible,  watching  it  in  the  still  mornings  from  the 
ramparts  of  Thrieve,  that  yonder  black  dot,  almost  in- 
visible, that  framework  of  iron  small  as  a  child's  toy, 
should  be  pointed  at  us  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  our 
castle  to  the  ground  and  death  to  all  of  us  who  were 
there. 


ARCHiBALD   THE   GRIM  297 

Nevertheless  we  waited  with  that  curious  chill  stillness 
of  indifference  with  which  men  and  women  of  our  nation 
face  calamity  which  no  care  can  evite. 

It  is  as  if  they  said,  "  Fate  is  upon  us — who  are  we 
that  we  complain,  alter,  or  amend  ?  " 

And  such  is  mostly  the  spirit  of  the  race  of  Galloway 
— not  very  grateful  for  prosperity,  taking-  it  as  their  right, 
rather.  Neither  greatly  cast  down  by  adversity.  It  is 
not  their  desert — still  less  their  fault.  Fate — Fate  hath 
decreed  the  issues  of  Good  or  111.  And  so  the  true  Pict 
of  Galloway  sits  him  down  and  is  silent,  not  much  dis- 
satisfied with  the  Powers  Above — still  less  (be  it  said) 
with  himself. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  day  in  November  when  the  great  cannon  was  first 
fired  remains  very  clear  in  my  memory. 

Nor  is  it  likely  that  the  impression  will  ever  fade.  See, 
I  will  try  to  call  it  up.  It  was  what  we  call  in  Galloway 
"  a  sheep-wintering  day  " — that  is,  the  kind  of  day  on 
which  the  shepherds  from  the  Merrick  and  the  Rhinns 
of  Kells  would  bring  down  the  feck  of  their  flocks  to 
the  lower  pastures — leaving  only  old  seasoned  rams  and 
"  snaw-breaking  "  ewes  to  withstand  the  rigours  of  the 
hill  storms. 

To  be  more  exact  and  explicatory  to  one  who  knows 
not  our  climate,  the  day  was  clear,  mildly  frosty,  with  a 
sun  that  looked  down  through  a  faint  equal  mist,  gran- 
ulated like  grass  long  worn  by  the  sea.  There  was  a 
nip  in  the  air,  not  snell,  but  with  a  grim  threat  of  on- 
coming winter  behind  the  pale  sunshine  of  November. 

About  ten  o'  the  clock  we  were  all  out  on  the  balcony 
which  looks  to  the  north.  The  river  was  very  still  and 
flowed  towards  us  without  apparent  motion.  It  did  not 
reflect — there  was,  indeed,  nothing  for  it  to  reflect,  save 
that  colourless  canopy  of  haze. 

Suddenly  Sholto  lifted  his  voice. 

"  All  to  shelter ! "  he  cried.  And  gathering  up  the 
three  younger  children  he  carried  them  down  into  the 
deeps  of  Archibald  the  Grim — the  dungeon  which  he  had 
spent  so  much  time  in  making  cannon-proof  for  us. 


298  MAY   MARGARET 

Maud  followed  with  the  others,  but  I  ling-ered  a  mo- 
ment, curious.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  upon  the 
Byne  of  Camp  Douglas — at  least  no  more  than  the 
ordinary  number  of  black  dots,  who  were  always  bust- 
ling about  like  ants  in  a  disturbed  nest.  If  anything, 
these  seemed  to  be  at  a  somewhat  greater  distance  than 
was  usual  from  the  dark  muzzle  of  Mons  Meg. 

As  I  stood  gazing  there  came  from  beneath  the  voice 
of  Sholto  McKim. 

"  My  Lady  Margaret,  your  place  is  waiting,  and  I  am 
waiting !     Come !  " 

"  One  moment  only !  "  I  cried,  anxious  to  see. 

"  Not  one !  "  he  answered.  "  I  command  at  Thrieve 
and  I  am  responsible  for  your  safety.     Come !  " 

And  I  could  not  help  smiling  to  myself,  even  at  such 
a  moment.  For  well  I  knew  that  Sir  Sholto  was  quite 
capable,  in  the  event  of  the  least  delay,  of  catching  me 
up  like  one  of  the  bairns  and  shutting  me  in  Archibald 
the  Grim  with  the  low  door  locked  behind  me. 

And,  indeed,  locked  it  was,  and  that  upon  the  instant. 
And  what  a  strange  feeling  to  be  shut  up  from  all  hopes 
of  succour — there,  in  the  deepest  deeps  of  the  castle. 
But  Sholto  had  been  thoughtful  for  us,  knowing  that  we 
were  but  women,  and  of  that  curious  tribe  whose  first 
mother  cost  mankind  Paradise. 

Perhaps,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  made  those  slits 
for  light  and  air  before  he  knew  that  the  great  piece 
was  to  be  dragged  from  Carlinwark  to  the  hill  north- 
ward of  Thrieve,  called  the  Byne  of  Camp  Douglas. 

Be  these  "things  as  they  may,  it  is  certain  that  I  had 
no  small  pleasure  and  satisfaction  in  looking  through 
a  little  guarded  arrow-slot  in  the  direction  of  the  fatal 
hill.  Behind  me  Maud  was  busied  with  the  children, 
disposing  them  upon  the  beds  and  benches  which  Sholto 
had  provided.  A  dim  but  sufficient  glow  from  the  nar- 
row slots,  mere  lines  of  light  penetrating  from  without, 
filled  the  interior  of  Archibald  the  Grim. 

From  a  wooden  stage  attached  to  the  wall  hung  a 
"  cruisie  "  lamp,  made  of  iron.  The  upper  palm-shaped 
hollow  was  filled  with  oil,  and  carried  a  floating  wick 


ARCHIBALD    THE    GRIM  299 

of  teased  linen.  This,  however,  we  were  ordered  not 
to  Hght  without  closing  carefully  all  the  apertures  which 
gave  to  the  north. 

I  was  instantly  at  the  fortunate  arrow-slot.  It  was 
well-nigh  on  the  level  of  the  river,  and  over  the  low 
rampart  in  front  only  the  utmost  top  of  the  Byne  of 
Camp  Douglas  could  be  seen.  The  great  black  wine-tun 
in  her  cradle  had  been  pushed  clear  of  the  covering  shed, 
and  behind  and  to  either  side  there  stood  a  compact 
crowd  of  black  dots — doubtless  curious  spectators  come 
out  to  see  the  proof  of  that  which  had  been  so  long  in  the 
making. 

Somehow  I  had  upon  me  a  feeling  that  Laurence  was 
up  there.  As  indeed  he  was,  bringing  all  his  mathematics 
to  bear  on  the  problem  of  how  to  point  and  elevate  the 
mouth  of  the  iron  monster  so  that  the  shot  might  strike 
the  centre  of  the  castle  of  Thrieve. 

Meantime,  on  the  battlements  of  the  highest  tower, 
Sholto  and  James  Douglas  watched  with  interest  and 
without  the  least  fear  the  trial  which  might  bring  them 
death  the  next  moment.  For  thus  are  some  men  made — 
some,  not  all. 

An  instant  more — and  a  puff  of  white  smoke  appeared 
on  the  summit  of  the  Byne,  rapidly  mounted  and  spread 
outward  in  the  shape  of  a  cabbage,  the  top  being  blown 
off  into  haze  by  the  light  wind. 

Followed  by  an  unutterable  pause — of  moments  which 
seemed  years — aeons — eternities ! 

Then — crash!  The  castle  was  shaken  to  its  founda- 
tions. The  walls  seemed  to  rock.  We  heard  the  thun- 
der of  a  great  explosion.  Something  high  above  us 
seemed  to  rip  like  torn  cloth,  and  in  front  of  our  little 
arrow  slit  descended  a  rain  of  fragments  of  stone  and 
the  dust  of  lime,  blown  fine  and  powdery.  The  curious 
sulphury  smell  of  a  hammer  stricken  on  blue  whinstone 
pervaded   everything. 

For  a  time  it  appeared  to  us  as  if  the  whole  castle  had 
been  destroyed.  The  keep  itself  seemed  to  have  fallen 
upon  our  heads,  almost  crushed  the  solid  stone  roofing 
and  tripled  masonry  of  Archibald  the  Grim  flat,  like  the 


30O  MAY    MARGARET 

leaves  of  a  book.  Nevertheless  Maud,  quite  unmoved,  oc- 
cupied herself  in  soothing  little  David.  The  twins,  Cuth- 
bert  and  Bride,  scuffled  for  a  place  at  the  window,  while, 
holding  each  of  his  brothers  by  a  leg,  sturdy  Ulric  com- 
plained even  to  tears  between  his  tugs,  "  I  wants  to  see — 
I  wants  to  see  !  " 

Then  presently  we  heard  the  voice  of  James  Douglas 
without  the  dungeon. 

"  Goes  all  well  within  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  All  is  well,"  answered  Maud,  starting  quicklv. 
"Where  is  Sholto?" 

"  He  is  safe  and  untouched,"  said  the  Earl,  "but  the 
castle  has  been  breached  in  the  midst  of  the  first  story, 
above  your  heads.  Many  have  been  hurt — some,  I  fear, 
killed  outright !  Sholto  is  caring  for  them.  He  bade 
me  come  hither  to  ask  after  your  welfare ! " 

Then,  I  think,  there  was  not  one  of  us  who  did  not 
know  that  the  end  of  the  siege  could  not  be  far  ofT.  This 
our  castle  impregnable  had  been  breached  with  the  very 
first  ball  of  Mons  Meg — what  might  not  the  second  do? 
I  looked  forth  at  the  hill  and  the  little  groups  of  moving 
dots  upon  it.  Would  it  come  a  second  time?  Where 
would  it  strike!  Whom  would  it  slay?  If  the  missile 
broke  a  way  .into  the  castle  so  easily  through  walls  nine 
feet  thick — would  even  Grim  Archibald  be  safe — that 
mother — these  little  babes? 

Even  then,  God  be  thanked !  I  had  the  grace  not  to 
think  very  much  about  myself.  Indeed,  wherefore  should 
I  ?  Life  or  death  were  but  slight  things  to  me,  knowing 
what  I  knew,  having  drunken  deep  of  the  bitter  without 
once  fairly  tasting  the  sweet. 

But  what  was  the  strangest  thing  of  all,  there  came  no 
second  shot  that  day.  The  deadly  black  vat  on  wheels 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  All  the  men  ran  to  and  fro, 
looking  more  like  ants  than  ever,  over  the  smooth  grey- 
green  surface  of  the  Byne — now  and  henceforth  for 
ever  to  be  called  only  "  Knockcannon,"  the  hill  of  the 
cannon. 

What  happened  we  knew  not  then.  We  heard  after- 
wards at  length.     The  great  iron  murderer  had  rushed 


ARCHIBALD   THE   GRIM  301 

backwards  with  the  recoil  of  the  shot,  almost  killing 
Malise  McKim,  who  had  fired  the  piece  after  Laurence 
had  levelled  the  muzzle  to  direct  a  ball  of  granite,  the 
weight  of  a  Carsphairn  cow,  upon  Castle  Thrieve.  This 
same  Laurence,  seeing  his  father's  danger,  pulled  him 
forcibly  to  the  left.  Whereupon  Mons  Meg  charging 
backward  with  the  force  of  a  peck  of  powder  in  her 
belly,  knocked  a  hole  through  the  rear  of  her  wooden 
shed,  and,  before  any  could  stop  her,  had  run  down  the 
gently  sloping  sides  of  the  Byne,  overturning  in  the 
marsh  at  the  bottom — without,  however,  doing  herself 
any  considerable  harm. 

But  it  was  obvious  to  the  McKims,  and  especially  to 
Laurence,  the  engineer  of  the  family,  that  a  strong 
backing  of  wood  and  earth  must  be  built  immediately 
upon  the  summit  of  the  Byne,  compacted  with  pales,  in 
order  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  this  performance  after 
each  shot. 

So  for  several  days  we  in  Thrieve  had  rest;  but  all 
felt  it  was  only  the  reprieve  of  the  condemned  criminal 
before  execution.  No  power  on  earth  could  save  us 
when  once  they  gat  the  gun  into  position  again.  So 
Sholto,  after  all  the  wounded  men  had  been  removed 
and  the  dead  buried  at  the  farther  end  of  the  isle,  per- 
mitted us  to  come  forth  once  more  to  breathe  the  air. 

It  was  a  strange  and  memorable  spectacle  that  awaited 
us  when  we  mounted  to  the  great  hall  of  Thrieve,  com- 
monly so  grave  and  peaceful,  with  its  black  oak  furnish- 
ings and  ancient  tapestries.  The  window  which  had 
given  upon  the  tranquil  river,  and  through  which  I 
had  looked  so  often,  was  now  a  huge,  yawning  gap, 
irregularly  toothed,  some  of  the  blocks  above  hanging 
only  by  the  strength  of  the  shell  lime  in  which  they  had 
been  imbedded,  and  threatened  every  moment  to  descend 
into  the  gulf  beneath.  After  effecting  this  havoc  the 
great  ball  of  Bennan  granite  had  passed  through  a 
group  of  soldiers  of  the  guard,  who  had  been  peering 
from  the  window,  scattering  and  slaying  on  its  way ; 
then  it  had  broken  through  the  arched  and  solid  ma- 
sonry upon  which  the  hall  was  built,  and  plumped  into 


302  MAY   MARGARET 

the  salle  de  garde  beneath,  where  again  many  more  had 
been  slain. 

With  sorrowful  hearts  we  walked  outside  on  the  green 
sward,  Maud,  with  the  children  about  her,  looking 
across  at  the  fatal  Cannon  Hill,  now  bare  and  deserted, 
all  the  King's  folk,  doubtless,  having  descended  into  the 
marshes  at  the  opposite  foot  of  the  incline  to  watch  the 
raising  of  the  monster  from  her  soft  bed,  and  the  efforts 
of  a  hundred  horses  to  place  her  again  in  position  in  her 
iron  cradle. 

But  what  did  we  see?  Instead  of  the  noble  wall  of 
Thrieve,  rising  with  its  narrow  but  well-moulded  win- 
dows, straight  as  a  cliff  to  the  giddy  battlements,  a  hun- 
dred feet  above,  lo !  a  great  black  gash,  ragged  and 
unseemly,  with  gillyflowers  and  small  scaly-leaved  ferns 
clinging  droopingly  to  the  edges  of  the  ruin. 

And  from  the  hill,  whence  our  fate  had  descended 
upon  us,  there  came  the  sound  of  a  wild  crying,  which 
sounded  very  forlorn  and  desolate — though  likely  no 
more  than  the  voices  of  the  waggoners  and  engineers 
of  the  King  urging  their  horses  to  the  task  of  rescuing 
the  iron  murderer  from  the  suction  of  the  bog. 

To  us,  thus  walking,  approached  James  Douglas, 
courteous  and  easy  in  his  demeanour  as  ever. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  women  and  children,"  he  said, 
holding  his  steel  cap  in  his  hand.  "  I  would  that  I  had 
you  all  in  a  place  of  safety — in  some  nunnery  or  holy 
house,  afar  from  the  storms  of  war !  " 

"  Trouble  not  yourself,  my  lord — we  need  it  not," 
said  Maud  ;  "  for  me,  I  am  happy  to  abide  by  my  husband 
and  my  children  !  " 

Which  was  of  the  nature  of  an  hard  saying  for  me 
and  perhaps  for  the  Earl  also. 

At  any  rate  James  Douglas  looked  at  her  long  and 
earnestly. 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  remain  by  the  castle  so  long  as  one 
stone  stands  in  its  place,"  he  said.  "  Then — the  race  of 
the  Douglases  of  the  Black  shall  have  an  end !  " 

To  all  this  I  answered  naught  nor  opened  my  lips. 
For  in  my  heart  I  knew  that,  with  a  certain  nameless 


ARCHIBALD   THE    GRIM  303 

little  grave  in  the  kirk  acre  of  Balmaghie,  a  tomb  which 
carried  no  inscription  or  brass  monumental — there  had, 
some  time  before,  come  to  an  end  the  ancient  race  of  the 
Douglases  of  Douglas,  of  Avondale,  and  of  Galloway — a 
fair  sweet  end  to  a  race  so  well  called  Black. 

Furthermore  I  trusted  not  at  all  in  the  great  swelling 
words  of  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  had.  been  my 
husband. 

For  I  knew  him. 


CHAPTER     XLI 

IN    THE   FRONT   OF   WAR 

Then  came  the  day,  memorable  and  terrible  beyond 
words,  the  day  of  the  final  breaching.  It  was  on  a 
Wednesday  that  the  great  gun  was  first  fired.  It  took 
Laurence  McKim  and  his  father,  together  with  such 
as  they  could  use  of  the  King's  folk,  till  Saturday  late  in 
the  gloaming  before  they  were  able  to  make  good  the 
damage,  and  build  such  a  solid  butt  of  earth  backed 
with  stones  as  would  stay  the  rearward  rush  of  Mons 
Meg  after  she  had  delivered  her  second  message. 

But  at  ten  of  the  clock  the  next  morning,  just  when  the 
Sabbath  bells  were  beginning  to  ring  in  a  hundred  parish 
kirks  throughout  the  land,  Sholto,  who  was  on  the 
watch,  warned  us  all  below.  The  monster  had  not  yet 
said  her  last  word.  There  was  more  and  worse  to  fol- 
low. Again  the  puff  of  white  reek,  lazily  disengaging 
itself  from  the  summit  of  Knockcannon — again  the 
dreadful  pause,  the  rending  crash,  the  castle  rocking  to 
its  foundations! 

This  time  the  ball  from  the  great  cannon  had  struck 
the  wall  of  the  outer  works  to  the  west,  toppling  over 
one  of  the  strong  corner  towers — which,  however,  thanks 
to  the  marvellous  mixture  of  shell  lime  that  held  the 
stones  together,  fell  outwards  in  one  piece  as  if  hewn 
from  the  solid  rock. 

The  third  ball  struck  the  castle  a  little  lower  than  the 
first  (that  of  Wednesday),  and  succeeded  in  so  enlarging 
the  breach  that  it  became,  even  to  the  eyes  of  Sholto, 
quite  practicable  for  escalade.  The  fourth,  passing 
directly  through  the  chasm  already  made,  rattled  from 
side  to  side  of  the  salle  de  garde  like  a  cube  in  a  dice- 
box,  killing  and  wounding  more  than  thirty  men  of  the 

304 


IN   THE    FRONT   OF   WAR  305 

guard  of  Thrieve.  This,  with  the  fall  of  the  flanking 
tower,  caused  a  sort  of  panic  among  the  younger  and 
less  experienced  of  the  garrison.  There  seemed  no 
hope  that  any  within  the  walls  could  escape.  Several, 
in  Sholto's  absence,  ran  for  the  fords  to  the  south,  only 
to  fall  in  mid-stream  under  the  sure  and  deadly  fire  of 
the  King's  archers  and  arbalast  men,  who  were  posted 
among  the  bushes  on  the  slope  above. 

The  fifth  missile  from  the  Byne,  equally  well  directed, 
struck  low  on  the  wall  of  the  keep,  immediately  above  the 
arrow  slot  which  looked  to  the  north  out  of  our  prison 
house.  The  fine  sulphury  dust  well-nigh  suffocated  us 
who  abode  and  waited  in  the  entrails  of  Archibald  the 
Grim. 

Strangely  enough,  though  the  north-looking  slot  was 
now  wholly  closed  by  a  mass  of  fallen  masonry,  we  had 
still  plenty  of  air,  though  very  much  less  light.  Other 
slits  opened  into  the  inner  passages  of  the  castle,  which 
as  yet  had  not  been  obstructed. 

Also,  and  a  marvel,  the  children  were  not  very  greatly 
frightened.  To  them  it  was  like  a  thunderstorm  with- 
out the  terror  of  the  lightning.  They  cried  out,  indeed, 
as  the  great  balls  struck  the  castle,  but  were  comforted 
by  clinging  to  their  mother's  skirts.  Marcelle  sat  silent 
and  apart,  with  pale  set  face,  her  hands  working  nervously 
over  her  beads,  and  little  David  abode  in  the  darkest 
corner  by  himself,  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  repeating 
over  and  over  that  he  was  "  a  great  boy,  and  thunder 
did  not  make  him  afraid."  This  he  did  to  set  him- 
self on  a  higher  pedestal  than  Ulric,  who  undisguisedly 
clasped  his  mother  round  the  neck  at  each  terrifying 
crash  and  rocking  of  the  keep. 

Those  who  have  only  seen  the  castle  afterwards,  a 
desolate  and  marvellous  ruin,  towering  to  the  skies,  with 
its  riven  sides  and  crumbled  battlements,  yet  for  all  that, 
grimly  erect  in  its  majesty,  can  have  no  idea  of  the  terror 
of  these  hours  when  the  whole  building  seemed  ready 
to  dissolve  into  a  heap  of  stones,  not  one  remaining  upon 
another — as,  indeed,  Malise  McKim  had  prophesied 
would  be  the  case. 


3o6  MAY    MARGARET 

In  Archibald  the  Grim  we  women  and  bairn-folk  were 
shut  in.  For  the  space  of  twenty-four  hours  we  knew 
not  what  was  happening  above — whether  those  we  loved 
were  dead  or  wounded,  or  locked  together  in  deadliest 
combat. 

Yet,  it  might  be  said,  there  could  be  no  great  anxiety 
in  my  heart.  For  none  loved  me  greatly — save  Sholto 
and  Maud,  who  (as  right  was)  both  loved  each  other 
more  and  otherwise.  But  it  was  not  so.  James 
Douglas  was  the  head  of  the  race.  He  was  the  father 
of  the  babe  William,  who  rested  under  the  Star  in  the 
kirkyard  at  Balmaghie.  He,  and  he  alone,  had  lain  in 
my  bosom.  Together  we  had  read  all  I  knew  of  the 
book  of  life.  And  though  that  was  at  an  end,  such  is 
the  miracle  of  woman's  heart,  that  all  was  not  as  if  it 
had  never  been.  I  did  not  wish  James  Douglas  to  die. 
I  would  rather  have  died  myself — that  is,  if  the  choice 
had  been  given  me. 

I  was  glad,  that,  in  this  thing  at  least,  he  was  no 
craven.  I  knew  he  would  be  brave,  and  the  thought 
that  he  was  leading  on  the  Douglases  to  the  fight,  hold- 
ing the  deadly  breach,  cheered  (I  admit  it)  these  dark 
hours. 

In  Archibald  the  Grim  we  had,  at  least,  plenty  of  food 
and  water,  and  could  we  have  but  known  what  was 
happening  above,  I  do  not  think  we  would  have  been  much 
afraid  or  ill-content.  But  the  awful  "  do-nothingness." 
which  at  such  times  is  the  lot  of  women,  preyed  upon  our 
spirits.  We  could  not  get  out.  The  door  of  the  dun- 
geon was  locked  on  the  outside,  and  much  sand  and  earth 
piled  against  it  to  lessen  the  danger  of  any  rebound  of 
the  giant  missiles.  Sholto  had  seen  to  that  in  the  midst 
of  all  his  troubles.  Indeed  it  was  part  of  his  strength 
that  he  always  thought  first  of  the  weak  things — the 
chief  part  of  his  greatness  also,  mayhap. 

But  there  came  upon  Maud  Lindsay  and  myself — 
penned  there,  prison-bound,  the  fierce  desire  to  be  men — 
to  be  above,  combating  the  enemy,  doing  as  they  did, 
sharing  their  perils — if  need  be,  dying  their  death. 

But  this,  we  well  knew,  was  vain.     In  Archibald  the 


IN   THE   FRONT   OF   WAR  307 

Grim  the  night  abode  unbroken  with  us,  while  these  last 
throws  of  the  dice  were  being-  cast  in  the  breaches  above. 

This  it  was  that  was  happening  there. 

Simultaneously  with  the  striking  of  the  third  bolt  upon 
the  castle — that  which  enlarged  the  breach,  a  strong 
force  of  the  Angus  Douglases,  together  with  certain 
renegade  Hamiltons  from  the  West  Country,  assaulted 
the  works  by  the  ford,  where,  however  (for  the  instant), 
the  few  guardsmen  held  their  own.  But  the  fall  of  the 
great  flanking  tower  shook  the  nerve  of  our  defenders. 
And  those,  especially,  who,  much  against  the  will  of 
Sholto,  had  been  enlisted  from  Douglasdale  and  the 
Upper  Ward,  finding  their  own  ancient  friends  and  com- 
rades in  front  of  them,  hoisted  the  white  flag  of  sur- 
render. Also  a  strong  storming  party  crossed  the  ford 
and  pressed  towards  the  breach  which  had  been  made  on 
the  northern  face  of  the  castle.  Their  advance  ought 
to  have  been  galled  by  the  bolts  and  shafts  of  our  men 
from  the  ramparts.  But  such  was  the  terror  inspired 
by  the  new  mode  of  warfare,  that  had  fire  descended 
from  heaven  and  the  levin-bolts  stricken  Thrieve  Castle 
to  the  ground,  the  men  of  the  guard  could  not  have  been 
in  a  greater  amaze. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  in  all  the  land  of  the  Scots 
no  cannon  had  ever  before  been  seen  which  a  couple  of 
men  could  not  carry  easily  upon  their  shoulders.  And 
now  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the  granite  balls  shot 
from  the  huge  maw  of  Mons  Meg  could  be  carried  on 
a  mason's  barrow  by  two  men  holding  the  trams. 

There  was,  therefore,  this  excuse  for  the  men  of  the 
Douglas  Guard — they  would  have  died  like  men  under  a 
shower  of  English  clothyard  shafts,  or  encountered 
steadily  with  levelled  spear  the  charge  of  knights  steel- 
clad.  But  this  death,  inevitable,  coming  from  far,  scat- 
tering in  its  progress  not  only  the  bodies  of  men,  but 
the  very  defences  of  solid  stone  and  lime  which  ages  had 
counted  impregnable — no,  I  blame  them  not  greatly! 

Yet  there  were  some  who  stood  firm — some,  but  very 
few.     One  hand  will  count  them  all. 

The  Lord  James  and  Sholto  were  in  the  breach  of  the 


3o8  MAY   MARGARET 

outerworks — the  high  gate  of  Thrieve  still  closed  be- 
hind them,  and  the  yawning  chasm  in  the  northward 
face  looking  down  upon  them  with  the  ghastly  gaze  of 
a  skeleton  orbit. 

"  Go,  my  Lord,"  said  Sholto,  in  a  low  voice,  "  the 
charger  waits.  One  of  these  lads  will  take  him  across 
the  water.  The  other  will  protect  you  while  you  swim 
after.  I  will  hold  the  enemy  in  play  in  this  place  long 
enough  to  give  you  a  chance.  Cross  the  Dee  at  the  deep- 
est part,  plunging  in  where  the  water  touches  the  castle 
wall.  Andro  the  Penman  will  meet  you  on  the  bank 
with  the  horse,  John  here  will  cover  your  retreat  with 
his  cross-bow.  With  my  axe  in  my  hand  I  can  promise 
you  that  they  shall  not  take  you  in  the  rear  through 
yonder  gap  in  the  hall  of  the  guard — till,  at  least,  you 
set  foot  on  Balmaghie  grass." 

This  Sholto  said,  knowing  that  within  a  few  feet  of 
him  his  wife  and  his  five  children  were  imprisoned.  But 
such  was  his  duty.  He  was  the  Captain  of  Thrieve, 
and,  whoever  escaped,  he  must  bide  at  his  post.  For 
this  man,  whom  he  was  aiding  to  escape,  was,  notwith- 
standing all,  the  chief,  the  Douglas — and  in  his  single 
person,  the  last  Douglas  of  the  Black. 

From  beneath,  unseen,  there  was  the  crying  of  men 
about  to  be  slain  and  of  men  in  the  act  of  slaying. 
Equally  without  haste  or  a  moment's  hesitation  Sholto 
took  his  dispositions.  He  had  laid  aside  his  sword  of 
set  purpose,  and,  standing  clear  of  the  wall,  prepared  to 
fight  his  last  fight,  axe  in  hand.  It  was  a  weapon  which 
he  had  made  wholly  himself — double-faced,  the  weight 
perfectly  balanced,  the  handle  of  stout  ash,  well  sea- 
soned, not  quite  straight,  but  with  a  certain  backward 
twist  in  it  near  the  head  which,  as  Sholto  fancied,  suited 
his  hand.  It  was  a  terrible  weapon  in  the  hand  of  a 
master  of  it,  and  fitted  for  the  roughest  battle-play, 
Sholto  had  made  it  neither  too  sharp  nor  yet  too  highly 
tempered,  judging  that  the  weight  of  the  stroke  would 
do  the  work.  Indeed,  well-nigh  he  had  quarrelled  with 
his  father  upon  the  subject.  For  the  old  man  had  fixed 
ideas  upon  tempering  and  the    art    of    weapon-making. 


IN   THE    FRONT   OF   WAR  309 

He  had,  however,  very  soon  a  chance  of  testing  practi- 
cally the  theories  of  his  eldest  son. 

Now,  James  Douglas,  seeing  that  all  was  lost,  proved 
not  difficult  to  persuade.  He  must,  he  said,  trust  to  a 
good  horse  and  the  ship  waiting  in  the  Dutchman's 
Lake  at  Kirkcudbright  to  carry  Douglas  and  his  for- 
tunes, for  a  time  at  least,  to  another  country. 

"  After  all,"  he  added,  "  I  am  the  only  one  who,  in  the 
event  (which  seems  certain)  of  the  castle  surrendering, 
would  of  a  surety  be  executed.  James  Stewart  simply 
could  not  spare  a  third  Earl  of  Douglas  after  slaying 
two  already !  As  for  you,  Sholto  McKim,  they  will 
give  you  quarter  for  the  asking,  and  the  women  and 
bairns  are  as  safe  in  Grim  Archibald  as  in  their  own 
beds ! " 

"  So?"  said  Sholto  quietly.  "At  any  rate  it  is  time  to 
be  going!  These  Penman  lads  will  put  you  safely 
through  the  deeps  of  the  Dee.  The  horse  is  ready  at 
the  water  port.  Trust  me — I  will  keep  your  rear-guard 
until  such  time  as  I  see  you  set  spurs  in  your  beast  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Pool  of  Thrieve." 

"  I  go,"  said  James  Douglas,  "  but  only  under  protest 
— since  you  judge  it  for  the  best!  And  I  pray  you  bid 
farewell  to " 

"  I  will,"  said  Sholto.     "  Go  quickly !  " 

And  James  Douglas  departed  thus — even  thus — slip- 
ping out  by  a  secret  passage  from  his  own  ancient  castle 
of  Thrieve,  never  to  enter  it  again. 

The  same  white  charger  which  had  brought  him  so 
gloriously  home  from  Arkinholm  was  already  gingerly 
pacing  down  the  steps  which  led  to  the  great  western  Pool 
of  Thrieve — one  of  the  deepest  in  the  whole  course  of  the 
Dee.  Sholto  had  rightly  judged.  So  strong  was  the 
enemy's  belief  that  on  that  side  no  one  could  possibly 
escape  from  the  Castle,  that  no  notice  was  taken  of  the 
attempt  till  Andro  the  Penman  and  his  charge  were 
nearly  across,  with  James  Douglas  swimming  less 
strongly  behind — for  he  was  of  Avondale,  and  little 
accustomed  to  squattering  out  and  in  of  the  water  all 
day  long  like  the  lads  of  Thrieve. 


310  MAY    MARGARET 

But  ere  they  could  land  a  few  archers  ran  by  the  fallen 
tower  which  flanks  the  water,  clambering  over  the  debris 
to  shoot  at  the  fugitives. 

"Tzvang!"  went  the  crossbow  of  John  the  Penman 
from  the  water-port. 

"  Good  lad !  "  quoth  Sholto  under  his  breath,  "  now 
you  are  at  a  better  job  than  sitting  upon  the  bald  rump 
of  Douglas  the  Black  in  the  midst  of  the  shallows  of 
Glenlochar   while   the   kirk   folk  pass   laughing  by." 

"Twang!"  Again  Jack  the  Penman  loosed  his  bow. 
And  another  Angus  archer  fell.  Down  went  another, 
a  lank,  lean,  flea-bitten  man  from  the  salt-marshes  of 
Solway. 

But  at  that  moment,  breaking  in  dense  clusters  through 
the  fords,  overleaping  the  first  wall  of  defence  came  the 
rush  of  the  besiegers,  solid  and  determined.  Sholto 
stepped  a  yard  to  his  own  front,  turned  the  axe  in  his 
fingers,  hefted  it  till  the  grip  suited  his  hand,  swung  it 
once  so  as  to  be  sure  of  clearing  everything.  And  was 
ready. 


CHAPTER    XLII 

SHOLTO    STANDS    IN    THE   BREACH 

Sholto  stood  in  the  breach,  waiting.  Never  soldier 
about  to  die  looked  his  enemy  more  steadily  in  the 
face.  I  think,  if  my  babe  had  lived,  he  would  have  been 
a  soldier  like  Sholto,  a  man  like  him.  I  could  not  wish 
a  better  wish  for  him.  May  the  sons  of  all  good  mothers 
be  even  as  Sholto  McKim — is  the  prayer  of  a  sonless 
woman. 

Behind  him  the  castle  towered  up  grey  and  massy,  the 
vast  rent  in  its  northerly  side,  for  which  the  stormers 
were  striving,  making  a  black  irregular  patch  on  the 
cliff  of  stone  and  lime.  That,  at  all  hazards,  he  must 
defend.  Once  entered  there,  not  only  would  the  whole 
castle  lie  void  of  defence,  but  from  the  water  gate  and 
the  balcony  the  King's  men  could  shoot  at  their  ease  the 
swimmers  across  the  Pool  of  Thrieve. 

In  the  first  rush  of  the  stormers  were  Hugh  Morton 
and  Laurence. 

"  Stand  back  there !  "  cried  Sholto.  "  I  desire  not  your 
blood,  brother !  " 

Gripping  with  both  hands,  Sholto  swung  his  axe 
once — and  Hugh  Morton,  smitten  through  the  guard, 
fell  with  a  cry  to  the  ground.  The  ashen  shaft  had 
been  cunningly  strengthened  with  iron  at  the  end  near- 
est the  axe-head.     It  could  not  be  cut  with  a  sword. 

"  Hold,  brother !  "  answered  Laurence,  "  I  also  have 
no  quarrel  with  you.  Let  James  Douglas  come  forth! 
He  hides  behind  you!  For  this  I  laid  aside  my  robe  of 
abbot — to  cross  swords  with  him." 

For  as  yet  none  of  the  assailants  knew  the  attempt 
that  was  being  made  to  afford  the  chief  of  the  house 
of  Douglas  a  last  chance  of  escape. 

311 


312  MAY   MARGARET 

"  I  am  here  in  this  place  to  do  my  duty  against  you 
or  any  man !  "  quoth  Sholto,  balancing  his  axe  with 
loving   particularity. 

And  for  a  long  minute  none  dared  to  try  that  path 
perilous  across  the  breach.  But  there  was  one  behind, 
somewhat  less  active  than  the  youths  who  led  the  first 
rush  of  stormers,  who  yet  toiled  manfully  behind. 
Malise  McKim  it  was  who  came  across  the  grass,  his 
great  two-handed  sword  naked  in  his  hand.  He  paused 
a  moment,  looming  up  vast  and  weighty  by  comparison 
with  his  son,  as  Mons  Meg  herself  set  on  end  beside  a 
pennon-lance  at  a  tent  door. 

Father  and  son  stood  face  to  face.  A  certain  hesi- 
tation, not  unnatural,  manifested  itself  among  the  assail- 
ants. Laurence  had  no  wish  to  slay  his  brother,  nor 
yet  to  be  slain  by  him  in  such  a  quarrel.  Though  the 
fall  of  young  Hugh  Morton  had  stayed  the  first  rush  of 
the  stormers,  yet,  as  Laurence  well  knew,  the  end  was 
certain.  But  Malise  had  other  thoughts  in  his  mind. 
There  was  no  halt  or  compromise  in  that  sombre  red 
eye. 

"Sholto,"  he  cried,  "stand  aside!  Or,  by  St.  Bride. 
I  will  e'en  slay  thee  with  my  hand — first-born  son  of 
my  body  though  you  be !  " 

"  Slay !  "  said  Sholto.  "  This  is  my  place.  I  will  stand 
here  till  I  die — or  till  that  is  accomplished  which  I  fight 
for!" 

"  You  fight,  then,  to  let  James  Douglas,  the  traitor, 
the  enemy  of  your  own  house,  escape !  " 

"  Even  so !  "  said  Sholto  calmly. 

Then  Malise  McKim,  the  madness  rising  suddenly 
in  his  eyes,  raised  his  two-handed  sword  over  his  shoul- 
ders and  smote.  Lightly  Sholto  stepped  aside.  The 
swing  of  the  blade,  taking  the  edge  of  the  breach,  cut 
through  part  of  the  sea-shell  plaster,  and  jarred  with 
terrific  force  against  the  freestone  of  a  lintel.  The 
shock  brought  the  Armourer  to  his  knees,  and  in  that 
moment,  if  so  he  had  chosen,  Sholto  might  easily  have 
slain  his  father. 

But,     stepping    quietly    back,     Sholto    permitted     the 


SHOLTO    STANDS    IN    THE    BREACH    313 

smith  to  arise,  contenting  himself  with  swinging  his 
axe  and  measuring  once  again  the  length  and  freedom 
of  his  stroke.  Whereat,  seeing  him  as  they  thought 
embarrassed,  a  pair  of  Lothian  men,  Crichton  of  Bruns- 
ton  and  Mickle  Rob  of  the  Nine  Mile  Stane  sprang  for- 
ward together.  But  the  axe  of  the  Captain  of  the 
Guard  had  two  faces,  and  with  them  Sholto  struck  this 
way  and  that  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning.  Shoulder 
to  the  right  and  face  to  the  left,  bore  witness  to  the 
virtue  which  abode  in  the  cunning  bend  of  that  ash 
shaft  a  foot  from  the  axe-head  which,  together  with 
Sholto's  wrist  action,  doubled  the  spring  of  the  stroke. 

Of  the  two,  Brunston  proved  the  luckier,  and  Mickle 
Rob  went  visage-marred  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Meanwhile  Malise  had  recovered  himself,  and  strangely, 
he  was  angry  with  his  son — indeed,  far  more  angry  than 
before. 

"  Sholto  McKim,"  he  cried,  "  deliver  to  me  that  man 
— James  Douglas !  Or  else  I  will  make  a  road  to  him 
over  your  dead  body  and  cloven  skull.  That  you  are 
my  son  matters  nothing.  That  you  keep  me  from  my 
revenge,  matters  all !  " 

He  advanced  upon  Sholto  again  with  the  dull  fury  in 
his  eyes  kindling  red  like  a  smithy  fire  when  the  bellows 
are  plied, 

"  Stand  forth  like  a  man  and  fight !  "  he  cried.  "  No 
dancing-master  tricks  will  serve  you  a  second  time !  " 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  man,  "  slay  me  if  you  can. 
I  will  strike  you  no  stroke.  But  I  have  my  duty  to  do, 
I  fight  to  foil,  but  not  to  wound — not  to  kill.  You  are 
my  father !  " 

"  You  speak  as  you  fight,  to  waste  time.  Let  me 
pass — yea  or  nay  ?  " 

"  Nay,  then,  my  father !  "  said  Sholto. 

Whereupon  half  a  dozen  of  the  King's  men,  impatient 
at  the  delay,  were  about  to  rush  the  breach, 

"He  cannot  slay  us  all — at  him,  I  say!  Fall  on!" 
cried  Angus  Douglas,  eager  to  be  done  with  the  fray. 

"  Leave  this  young  man  to  me,"  shouted  Malise.  "  I 
who  have  given  him  life,  will  reive  the  life  from  him. 


314  MAY    MARGARET 

I  will  render  him  the  death  of  a  traitor  to  his  own  house 
— of  one  who  hath  shamed  his  sister,  the  daughter  of  his 
mother !  " 

Against  his  father.  Sholto  could  only  oppose  his  youth- 
ful litheness  and  such  defence  as  he  was  able  to  make, 
using  his  Lochaber  axe  as  a  shield. 

The  Armourer's  blow  descended  a  second  time — 
furious,  annihilating,  even  had  it  been  sustained  by  an 
armoured  man.  But  Sholto,  gliding  forward,  let  it  fall 
on  his  axe-head  between  the  falcon-spur  and  the  blade. 
The  first  it  shore  completely  away,  but  the  young  man 
dexterously  lowering  his  weapon,  so  directed  the  stroke 
that  the  blade  of  the  two-handed  sword  glided  along  the 
steel  strengthening  of  the  shaft,  and  finally  struck  harm- 
lessly, scoring  the  ground  at  his  father's  feet. 

Then  arose  a  great  crying  and  running  about  the  de- 
fences of  the  castle.  Some  mounted  on  the  fallen  tower 
and  began  shooting  arrows  into  the  Pool  of  Dee.  The 
fugitives  had  been  discovered.  But  by  this  time,  owing  to 
Sholto's  stubborn  defence,  the  distance  was  too  great 
from  any  part  of  the  castle  accessible  to  the  archers.  Had 
these  been  able  to  mount  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  or 
above  all  to  penetrate  to  the  water-gate  from  which  Andro 
the  Penman  and  James  Douglas  had  gone  forth,  they 
might  have  marked  the  swimmers  down  at  their  leisure. 
Even  as  it  was,  the  young  Captain  of  the  Guard  of 
Thrieve  had  several  anxious  moments. 

But  Sholto's  defence  had  been  sufiicient.  The  fore- 
feet of  the  white  charger  were  already  on  the  turf  of  the 
Balmaghie  shore.  The  light  saddle,  which  Andro  the 
Penman,  swimming  strongly,  had  carried  across  on 
his  head  was  in  its  place,  and  all  scathless,  James 
Douglas  was  galloping  southward  through  the  thick 
woods,  by  paths  which  he  knew  perfectly,  ere  a  final 
rush  of  stormers,  directed  in  a  fierce  stream  through  the 
breach,  carried  Sholto  off  his  feet.  His  father's  sword 
descended  on  his  head  as  he  fell.  He  was  dashed  this 
way  and  that,  even  carried  into  the  interior  of  the  castle 
by  that  turbulent  overwhelming  tide  of  men. 

Unconscious  as  if  in  sleep  the  waters  closed  over  the 


SHOLTO    STANDS    IN   THE    BREACH     315 

Captain  of  Thrieve.  The  strong  castle  which  he  had 
held,  as  it  had  been  with  his  sole  arm,  passed  for  ever 
out  of  the  hands  of  its  ancient  possessors.  But  there 
was  a  man,  black  with  the  grime  of  Mons  Meg,  a  man 
with  nothing  of  the  King  about  him  save  a  red  scar  on 
his  face  who  stood  over  him  crying  aloud,  "  Save  the 
young  man !  Lay  him  in  a  safe  place !  Do  not  trample 
on  one  so  brave.  The  time  is  at  hand  when  I  shall 
have  need  of  such !  " 

And  it  was  indeed  the  King.  For  once  the  last  and 
best  friend  of  the  fallen  house  owed  his  safety  to  their 
worst  enemy. 

On  the  strand  of  the  Pool  of  Thrieve,  vainly  cursing, 
imprecating,  foaming  at  the  mouth  with  baffled  fury, 
Malise  the  Smith  stood  watching  James  Douglas — the 
man  for  whom  so  many  had  flung  away  their  lives,  ride 
comfortably  into  the  deep,  green  solitudes  of  the  Bal- 
maghie  woods.  Ah,  if  he  could  only  have  gotten  once 
within  arm's  length  of  his  unconscious  son — at  that 
moment,  Sholto  McKim  would  soon  have  paid  the  penalty 
from  which  he  had  saved  the  enemy  of  his  house. 

It  is  the  testimony  of  all  that  Malise  McKim  was 
never  the  same  man  after  this  terrible  disappointment. 
*  He  had  been  balked  of  his  vengeance,  when  it  seemed 
within  his  grasp,  and  from  that  time  forth  a  film  of  the 
red  stood  between  eye  and  brain.  From  that  mo- 
ment reason  and  memory  abode  but  occasionally  with 
him. 

"  Mons  Meg !  Mons  Meg !  "  he  would  cry,  striking 
his  clenched  hand  on  the  table  till  the  whole  house  rang 
again.  "  What  is  this  prate  of  Mons  Meg  ?  What 
hath  she  done?  Sandy  Weir  the  Dumfries  cooper  had 
done  as  muckle  with  a  wine-vat  laid  on  its  side !  Dung 
down  Thrieve — you  say,  given  victory  to  the  King? 
Bah!  what  of  that?  A  puff-ball  that  cracks  under  one's 
foot  on  the  green!  Doth  not  James  Douglas  live?  And 
was  he  not  saved  by  the  sword  of  my  son?  Answer  me 
that !  " 

But  there  was  none  that  could  make  denial — nor  indeed 
dared. 


3i6  MAY   MARGARET 

"  Then,"  he  would  cry,  having  put  all  to  silence,  "  let 
me  hear  no  more  prating  of  Mons  Meg !  " 

And  had  the  King  not  prevented,  the  fit  being  on  him, 
he  vi^ould  have  taken  a  forehammer  and  destroyed  the 
great  cannon  with  his  own  hand. 


CHAPTER     XLIII 

IN    THE   NIGHT    SEASON    ONE    COMETH    UP 

As  to  US  who  were  confined  in  Archibald  the  Grim, 
these  events  passed  Hterally  over  our  heads,  and  left  us 
no  whit  the  wiser.  Indeed,  till  the  door  of  our  prison- 
house  was  opened  we  knew  nothing  certainly,  and  he 
who  brought  us  forth  was  the  same  Young  Man  in 
Black,  sometime  Abbot  of  Sweetheart,  Laurence  McKim. 

And  through  all  the  sad  destruction  which  the  bom- 
bardment had  wrought  upon  Thrieve — the  down-tram- 
pled southerly  garden  which  had  once  been  for  a  joy  to 
me,  my  solace  in  many  lonely  years,  the  misty  glory  of  a 
too  brief  dream,  I  could  not  help  rejoicing  that  it  was 
finished — this  life  I  had  not  chosen  to  live,  but  which 
had  been  thrust  upon  me  from  my  birth.  I  do  not  say  that 
afterwards  it  had  not  seemed  natural.  The  love  of 
Maud  and  the  devotion  of  Sholto  had  made  it  even 
simple  and  tolerable.  Yet  even  now,  when  I  am  old  and 
have  known  many  women,  I  judge  there  are  but  few 
such  upon  the  earth  who  in  their  youth  have  had  an 
experience  stranger  than  mine. 

There  is  this  to  be  added — I  knew  no  other.  For  the 
loves  of  Maud  and  Sholto  seemed  to  me  even  as  those 
of  a  father  and  mother  to  the  children  of  a  house — 
something  in  the  nature  of  things,  inevitable,  existing 
from  the  beginning,  continuing  unto  the  end. 

But  for  myself  I  expected  no  such  love  to  come  into 
■my  life.  Was  I  not  Princess  of  Galloway — Countess  of 
Douglas,  what  you  will !  To  the  end  I  was  fated  to  be 
a  tennis  ball  that  flies  this  way  and  that  between  the 
players.  So,  being  born  to  a  principality  desired  of 
men,  it  seemed  natural  to  me. 

So  that  being  done  with,  I  was  glad  to  be  quit  of 
Thrieve — of  the  hideous  confinement  in  the  dungeon  of 
Archibald  the  Grim,  of  the  biind  waiting,  of  the  thunder 

317 


3i8  MAY    MARGARET 

of  the  rending  shock,  and  the  terror  of  great  darkness. 
But  it  seemed  still  better  to  me  (whatever  might  here- 
after befall  me)  that  I  should  never  more  see  the  face  of 
James  Douglas — never  hear  his  voice,  so  smooth,  so  in- 
sinuating when  he  would — at  other  times  with  the  rasp 
of  command  in  it !  Therefore,  because  I  desired  to  for- 
get, said  Maud  Lindsay,  it  is  certain  that  I  never  truly 
loved  him. 

At  any  rate,  it  was  done  with,  princessdoms  and  splen- 
did prison  houses.  And  James  Douglas,  too,  was  done 
with.  From  the  time  he  set  foot  on  the  little  English 
ship  in  the  Dutchman's  Lake  at  Kirkcudbright,  I  knew 
that  I  should  see  my  husband's  face  no  more.  It  was 
not  his  way,  with  all  his  faults,  to  return  to  take  a  second 
place  where  once  he  had  reigned  supreme. 

Then  it  was  that,  leaving  Sholto  to  recover  from  his 
wounds  under  the  care  of  Maud,  in  an  untouched  south- 
erly corner  of  ruined  Thrieve  (a  guard  of  King's  men 
being  also  in  possession  to  see  all  safe  in  the  interests 
of  James  Stewart),  I  was  taken  northward  with  the 
royal  army. 

Laurence  McKim,  to  whom  the  King,  in  fulfilment  of 
his  promise,  had  accorded  his  own  name,  together  with 
the  forfeited  estates  of  Balveny,  which  had  belonged  to 
that  Little  John,  who  died  so  well  at  Arkinholm,  wished 
to  send  me  for  shelter  to  the  good  sisters  of  the  Sweet- 
heart. But  of  this  the  King,  who  had  his  own  purposes 
to  serve  and  his  own  interests  to  consolidate,  would  hear 
nothing.  "  A  Countess  of  Douglas  within  the  bounds  of 
Galloway  might,"  he  said,  "  easily  become  a  standard  of 
revolt." 

In  vain  I  besought  James  Stewart,  even  on  my  knees, 
to  permit  me  to  abide  in  some  place  where  I  should  hear 
no  more  the  storms  of  war,  nor  know  the  ill  hearts  of 
men. 

"  Let  me  be  always  with  Maud  and  Sholto,"  I  said. 
"  I  will  be  a  serving-maid  to  their  bairns,  if  you  will. 
But  as  you  love  God,  let  me  no  more  be  tossed  about,  a 
cork  on  the  waves  of  man's  ambition !  I  have  suffered 
enough.     Now  let  me  have  peace !  " 


ONE    COMETH   UP  319 

"  They  tell  me,"  he  answered  not  unkindly,  "  that  you 
had  over  long  time  peace,  and  thought  no  great  things 
thereof.     Yet  it  may  be  that  they  lie !  " 

"  They  do  lie  and  in  their  throats !  "  I  cried.  "  Only  let 
me  abide  in  peace  with  those  who  do  love  me,  and  I  shall 
ask  no  more.  At  least  /  have  never  conspired  against 
you !  " 

He  shook  his  head  not  ill-naturedly, 

"  Of  that  I  am  none  so  sure,  little  lady,"  he  answered. 
"  You  are  a  Douglas,  every  inch  of  you,  and  it  were  ill 
for  a  Stewart  to  trust  to  one  of  that  breed.  Mayhap, 
however,  a  tacked-on  Stewart  may  have  better  fortune 
with  you  than  one  true  born !  " 

What  he  meant  I  had  no  notion  of  then,  nor  yet  for 
long  afterwards.  So  in  spite  of  my  prayers,  they 
brought  me  by  slow  stages  to  Stirling,  that  fatal  town. 
At  every  burgh  the  triumph  of  the  royal  arms  was  re- 
ceived with  shoutings  and  processioning,  with  lurid 
torches  flaring  in  the  darkness  by  night,  and  parti- 
coloured flannel  petticoats  strung  across  the  miry  road- 
way by  day. 

I  even  recognised  some  of  the  latter.  James  and  I 
had  laughed  at  them,  sitting  together,  hand  in  each 
other's  hand,  those  times  when,  with  a  great  retinue,  he 
and  I  had  made  our  well-nigh  progresses.  It  was  all 
the  same.  Those  who  had  shouted  for  the  great  Earl 
of  the  South  in  his  day,  now  shouted  just  as  loud  for 
the  King  of  the  North.  And  the  goodwives  were  as 
ready  to  hang  out  their  gay  kerchiefs  and  wilicoats 
for  one  as  for  the  other.  For  which  small  blame  to 
them. 

Little  difference  they  kenned  'twixt  earl  and  king. 
Both  alike  claimed  lodging  for  their  men.  Neither 
paid  a  groat  for  bed  or  board.  And  if  the  honest 
burghers  gat  off  with  that,  they  might  count  themselves 
lucky.  For  soldiers  are  soldiers  all  the  world  over, 
wherever  there  is  a  pike  to  carry  or  a  town  to  sack,  and 
the  fear  of  the  King,  and  still  more  of  Malise  McKim's 
red  eye,  had  held  them  somewhat  severely  in  check  at 
Thrieve.     Moreover,   there  was   not  a  silver  pound  of 


320  MAY   MARGARET 

treasure  in  the  Castle,  nor,  saving  Maud  and  myself,  a 
woman  within  the  four  walls,  both  which  lackings  must 
notoriously  have  galled  these  honest  fellows. 

Laurence  would  have  been  glad  to  abide  with  his 
brother  Sholto,  but  this  also  the  King  had  no  mind 
for. 

His  mind  was  all  set  on  the  making  of  great  and  even 
greater  guns,  of  the  sort  which  in  such  brief  space  had 
brought  Thrieve  to  the  ground.  He  dreamed  of  the 
conquest  of  England,  of  the  battering  down  of  all  the 
border  fortresses  as  far  as  York,  of  humbling  the  King 
of  England  as  he  had  already  done  my  Lord  of  Douglas. 
"  If  the  Earl  has  escaped,"  he  said,  "  why,  so  much  the 
better;  he  will  carry  the  news  of  Mollance  Meg  and  her 
works !  " 

And  for  this  he  saw  in  Laurence  the  brain  and  skill 
of  plan,  in  Malise  and  the  other  McKims  the  instruments 
ready  to  his  hand. 

But  it  came  to  pass  that,  though  the  malady  of  the 
Armourer  Smith  grew  rapidly  upon  him,  the  King 
would  by  no  means  permit  either  Malise  or  any  of  his 
family  to  leave  his  company,  but  carried  him  and  his 
great  cannon,  with  shoutings  and  honour,  through  the 
towns  of  Dumfries,  Lanark,  and,  lastly,  Renfrew,  to- 
gether with  its  pendicle,  the  little  insignificant  village  of 
Glasgow,  seated  on  a  knoll,  all  broom  and  gorse,  above 
a  fine,  clear  river,  the  which  possesses  a  kirk  of  a  size 
most  disproportioned  to  the  needs  of  the  mean  fisher-folk 
who  dwell  there. 

So  when  we  came  to  Stirling,  and  saw  the  castle  and 
palace,  magnificent  upon  their  ridge,  right  royal  and 
comely  we  found  them  after  the  raft  of  pig-styes  we 
had  passed  through  of  late.  For  Thrieve,  surrounded 
with  a  river  which  cleansed  all  things  and  said  no  word, 
had  given  me  a  distaste  for  the  rubbish  heaps  and  cab- 
bage leaves  of  the  Scots  burghs,  with  their  other  dis- 
convenances  yet  more  grievous,  such  as  only  a  new  flood 
of  Noe  would  be  able  thoroughly  to  sweep  away. 

So,  as  I  say,  we  came  to  Stirling.  And  yet  my  head 
being  no  little  mazed,  it  came  about  I  scarce  knew  it 


ONE   COMETH   UP  321 

for  the  royal  town.  Sometimes  I  seemed  to  be  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  more  often  at  Amboise — sometimes  in  a 
mere  city  of  faerie.  For,  with  the  long  final  stage  and 
the  chill  (it  was  a  winter's  day,  grey  and  hard),  and  the 
King  being  determined  to  sleep  at  home  that  night, 
come  what  would,  I  was  wearied  far  past  my  ordinary, 
and  fain  to  rest,  had  it  been  in  no  better  than  a  hay- 
loft. 

So  we  rode  within  the  court  of  the  palace  by  eight  of 
the  clock,  and,  messengers  having  been  sent  on  before, 
there  was  a  great  banquet  ready  in  the  hall.  But  as  for 
me,  though  the  King  came  in  person  to  invite  me,  and 
showed  himself  most  desirous  to  forget  the  past,  I 
pleaded  that  I  was  wearied  out  of  all  bearing,  and  so  gat 
leave  to  betake  me  at  once  to  my  chamber,  which  was 
on  the  ground  floor,  and  opened  on  a  court. 

For,  indeed,  the  heart  was  sick  within  me  with  yearn- 
ing for  Maud  to  comfort  me,  and  with  all  that  had  passed 
during  these  terrible  last  days.  So,  having  partaken  of 
no  sustenance,  though  Laurence  knocked  repeatedly 
with  certain  dainties  for  the  sustaining  of  my  strength 
and  the  tempting  of  my  appetite,  I  would  not  open  to 
him ;  the  desire  to  eat  was  clean  gone  from  me.  So, 
without  even  entering  into  parley,  I  threw  me  on  the 
bed  and  slept. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  know  not  what  hour  of  the  night  it  might  have  been, 
nor  yet  whether  I  slept  or  waked.  But  deep  in  the 
heart  of  night,  when  even  the  soul  of  man  turns  to 
water  within  him  as  when  a  spirit  passes  by,  and  that 
of  woman  is  afraid  at  the  cheep  of  the  mouse  behind  the 
wainscot,  I  awaked  or  seemed  to  awake  in  my  bed. 

I  had  cast  me  down  as  I  was,  stretched  out  in  my  great 
cloak  of  voyage ;  and  lo !  when  I  awoke,  the  candle  I 
had  brought  with  me  was  burned  down  to  a  sort  of 
broad  yellow  flickering  in  the  socket.  Nevertheless, 
the  chamber  being  situate  where  it  was,  on  the  ground 
floor,  the  room  was  indistinctly  lit  with  the  illuminated 
torches  of  the  masquers  and  mummers  without  who  had 
come  to   wait  upon   the   King  in  the  great  courtyard, 


322  MAY   MARGARET 

while  opposite  my  own  lodging  a  cresset  full  of  pine- 
knots,  well  rosined^  burned  in  an  iron  basket.  For 
many  such  conveniences,  which  even  at  Thrieve  were 
never  heard  of,  had  been  brought  from  France  and 
Italy  to  the  new  palace  of  the  King. 

The  chamber,  therefore,  where  I  lay  was  by  no  means 
dark.  Or  at  least,  so  it  seemed  in  my  dream  or  vision 
of  the  night  (I  take  it  not  upon  me  to  say  which  it  was). 

But  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  between  me  and  the  window, 
plain  as  I  see  the  paper  I  write  upon,  I  saw  William 
Douglas,  who  had  been  my  husband.  Of  that  I  would 
take  mine  oath  upon  my  dying  bed. 

He  stood  and  looked  down  upon  me — much  as  he  used 
to  do,  but  as  I  thought,  more  tenderly — as  it  had 
been,  more  like  to  Laurence.  It  was,  however,  difficult 
to  see  his  face,  for  his  back  was  toward  the  lights 
without. 

Then  (always  in  my  dream  of  the  night)  he  said  to 
me,  "  Margaret !  " 

And  when  I  could  not  move  my  tongue  to  answer — 
not  for  fear,  because  it  all  appeared  natural  and  naught 
out  of  place  or  to  be  affrayed  of — he  said  again  and  in 
a  more  gentle  tone,  "  Margaret !  " 

At  the  same  time  he  came  close  up  to  me,  and  placed 
his  hand  upon  my  shoulder. 

Whereat  I  rose  up  slowly,  and  not  being  yet  rightly 
awake,  sat  on  the  bedside  and  regarded  him.  He  seemed 
strangely  kind.  But  still,  being  against  my  will  compelled 
to  remain  silent,  I  said  nothing,  sitting  tongued-tied  and 
awkward  before  him. 

Then  he  (or  else  that  which  stood  there  in  his  place, 
being  permitted)  took  me  by  the  hand  and  said,  "  Rise, 
Margaret,  there  is  somewhat  in  the  garden  without, 
which  it  behoves  you  to  look  upon !  " 

So  at  these  words  I  rose  up  and  stood  before  him,  and 
the  revellers  tossing  torches  in  the  air  without  for  the 
first  time  caused  the  light  to  shine  on  his  face.  It  was 
gentle  and  grave  as  ever,  but  sweeter,  and  as  if  proven 
by  a  lifetime  of  adversity.  Ah,  if  only  he  had  looked 
at  me  like  that  in  the  woods  of  Cour  Cheverney. 


ONE   COMETH   UP  323 

Then  came  the  word  to  me  suddenly,  I  was  not  afraid, 
then — no,  nor  yet  at  the  ending  of  all. 

"  Are  you  indeed  my  husband  whom  the  King  slew 
treacherously?"  I  asked  of  him. 

He  put  out  his  hand — or  the  semblance  of  a  hand, 
still  gently,  and  as  it  were  with  deprecation. 

"It  is  past!  Let  it  pass!"  he  said.  "James  the  King 
is  king  in  this  realm  to-day — not  the  best  sort  of  king — 
but  yet,  perhaps,  better  for  this  folk  than  William  of 
Douglas  would  have  been.  Have  no  fear  of  James 
Stewart,  King  of  Scots !  " 

"  But  he  is  a  murderer !  " 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  slaying — but  one  death !  " 
said  the  figure  which  had  come  to  me  in  my  dream ; 
"  James  Stewart  is  a  rough,  violent  man,  but  not,  in  his 
heart  of  hearts,  evil.  Let  that  which  he  hath  done  be 
forgot !  " 

"  How  can  I  know  that  you  speak  truth  ?  "  I  moaned. 
"  There  are,  say  the  priests,  spirits  evil  and  spirits  good 
— dreams  that  warn  and  instruct,  and  dreams  that  lead 
only  to  destruction.     How  can  I  be  sure?" 

"By  this  sign,"  he  said.  "Bide  a  moment:  wait  for 
the  man  that  hath  been  your  husband,  and  for  the  sign 
he  will  bring  in  his  arms." 

And  in  a  moment  he  was  not.  Yet  there  remained, 
as  it  were,  a  kind  of  bluish  haze,  like  moonshine  striking 
slantwise  through  a  skylight,  in  the  place  where  he  had 
stood, 

I  remained  fixed  in  amazement.  Yet  it  was  of  a  chilly 
sort,  and  wholly  without  fear.  Rather  a  certain  reverence 
descended  upon  me,  and  I  waited  not  unwillingly.  And 
in  a  little  while,  with  a  bright,  shining  light,  he  returned, 
carrying  a  child  in  his  arms.  And,  lo!  I  did  not  need 
to  be  told.  It  was  my  babe,  the  babe  who  had  been  laid 
in  the  holy  ground  in  the  kirk  acre  of  Balmaghie,  God  and 
the  monks  of  Sweetheart  giving  him  good  rest!  But 
grown  and  glorified,  and  like  the  angels  of  heaven  for 
beauty ! 

This  time  none  spoke ;  but  the  babe  smiled  upon  me,  and 
held  out  its  little  arms. 


324  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Mine,"  I  cried,  and  again  "  Mine !  "  Then  I  started 
forward  to  take  him  to  my  bosom. 

At  that,  Hke  the  clapping  of  hands,  all  vanished,  and 
I  was  alone,  save  that  I  heard  a  Voice  from  High  Above 
(not  that  of  William  Douglas),  which  said,  like  a  master 
correcting  a  child's  faulty  lesson,  ''Mine  also!" 

And  this  was  the  end  of  my  dream.  For  when  I  came 
to  myself,  lo,  I  was  by  the  tall  window !  The  chamber 
was  empty,  lit  only  by  the  uncertain  flicker  of  the  cresset 
dying  down  on  the  opposite  wall.  I  was  broad  awake. 
Yet,  if  I  had  been  asleep,  I  have  no  cognisance  of  how  or 
when  I  awaked.     The  dream  and  the  reality  seemed  one. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Then  it  carne  to  me  to  do  what  He,  my  visitant,  had 
said — to  go  into  the  enclosure  on  which  my  window 
opened.  It  was  not  the  great  wide  court  where  the 
guards  tramp  to  and  fro  afl  night,  calling  the  hour  and 
clanking  iron  heels,  but  an  inner  court  or  garden — close 
in  the  midst  of  the  castle. 

With  difficulty  I  opened  the  window,  which  appeared 
strangely  glued  and  long  disused.  It  was  a  tall  window 
like  those  I  had  been  accustomed  to  in  France.  And 
so  with  only  two  steps  I  found  myself  on  the  short  grass, 
grey  and  stiff  with  the  November  frost.  Above,  the  trees 
were  black  and  bald  against  the  sky,  reaching  out  their 
branches  like  withered  hands,  clutching  whole  clusters 
of  the  stars. 

On  the  hill  of  Ballingeich,  near  by,  they  had  lighted  a 
bonfire  in  honour  of  the  King's  return.  It  had  flamed, 
mounted,  lowered,  and  now,  like  the  cresset,  was  burn- 
ing red  and  low.  But  on  the  frosty  grass  of  the  little 
court-yard  it  made  a  ruddy  reflection  which  served  some- 
what to  guide  me. 

I  went  out,  scarce  knowing  what  I  did,  save  that  I 
had  been  called  in  a  dream.  The  enclosure  was  but  a 
grass  plot  with  ancient  trees  planted  all  about,  mostly 
close  to  the  walls.  But  as  I  went  across  the  short  grass, 
my  foot  caught  on  a  mound,  heaped  like  a  grave,  but 
not  new-made.  For  the  grass  grew  thick  upon  it,  though 
not  so  spiky  and  strong  as  elsewhere. 


ONE   COMETH   UP  325 

There  was  no  stone  at  head  or  foot.  But,  as  in  the 
dream,  my  heart  knew  all.  Someone  had  scribbled  on 
the  wall  under  the  dying  cresset  these  words : 

"  so    PERISH    ALLE    TRAITOURS  !  " 

But  there  was  for  me  no  need  for  that  assurance.  The 
man  who  was  the  truest  of  the  true — so  true  that  he 
trusted  his  house's  enemy  against  the  warnings  of  his 
own  (and  died  for  the  mistake) — lay  at  my  feet. 

My  husband,  William  of  Douglas !  I  knew  him  at 
last!  There  was  none  like  him — there  could  be  none — 
loyal,  silent,  faithful,  always  speaking  good  and  always 
fearless  of  evil.  In  this  place  he  lay,  treacherously  slain 
by  the  hand  of  his  Sovereign,  after  the  salt  eaten,  the 
banquet  spread,  the  loving  hand  about  the  neck,  as  is  the 
wont  of  brother  with  brother. 

And  it  seemed  to  me,  that  if  I  could  but  have  recalled 
the  past  and  the  years  that  had  overflown,  I  would  never 
any  more  have  misjudged  him,  but  understood  and  helped 
him  in  his  great  aims. 

That  he  had  never  loved  me  as  it  is  the  right  of  every 
woman  to  be  loved,  being  wedded,  seemed  to  matter  but 
little  now.  I  should  have  drawn  him — so  I  told  myself 
— taken  him,  held  him — given  him,  home-returning,  the 
comfort  of  mutual  understanding,  of  love,  touched  him 
to  humaner  purposes,  to  the  issues  which  some  name 
passionate,  but  which  also  are  divine. 

Ah,  but — I  could  not.  It  was  too  late.  It  was  not  so 
written,  and  the  High  Wall  of  Destiny  who  shall  over- 
leap? 

Yet  the  heart  within  me  was  wae  to  think  what  he,  the 
greatest  of  the  race,  had  missed.  William  Douglas  had 
known  the  vast  unsatisfied  loneliness  of  inheriting  a  match- 
less name.  He  had  proved  the  still  greater  loneliness  of 
companying  perforce  with  ignoble  men.  The  jar  and 
fret  of  statecraft,  the  shaping  of  little  means  to  great  pur- 
poses— the  triumph,  partly  assured,  yet  more  and  better 
seen  in  prospect — these  and  these  alone,  had  been  his, 
before  treachery,  rank  and  foul,  cut  him  off. 


326  MAY   MARGARET 

But  these  things  which  he  had  missed — the  love  of 
woman — the  prattle  of  children — sons  to  bear  his  name, 
daughters  held  among  the  honourable  of  the  earth !  Ah, 
how  much  more  and  greater  they  were!  Better  still — 
the  sweet  serenities  of  the  hearthstone,  the  tears  at  part- 
ing, more  in  the  throat  than  in  the  eyes,  the  glad  laugh- 
ters and  claspings  of  homecoming,  when,  after  toil 
accomplished,  he  should  return  bringing  his  sheaves  with 
him. 

And  as  I  thought  upon  these  things,  I  threw  me  on  my 
face,  vehemently  kissing  the  cold  turf,  frost  spangled, 
under  which  I  judged  his  head  to  lie. 

"  I  would  have  given  you  all  these,"  I  moaned,  "  all 
these  and  more,  had  you  but  asked  me.  But  you  would 
not — you  would  not !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

Long  I  lay  thus,  knowing  nothing  and  thinking  noth- 
ing, insensate  as  the  dust  beneath.  Then  into  my  heart 
there  stole  a  conviction,  that  was  all  the  surer  because 
it  came  to  me  this  time  without  spoken  word  or  angelic 
dream. 

I  knew  (I  know  not  how,  but  of  a  certainty  I  knew) 
how  in  That  Country  where  the  children  grow  up  without 
sin  (God's  nursery,  mayhap)  the  babe  that  had  been 
born  to  me  was  growing  up  in  the  care  and  tendence 
of  that  all-princely  spirit,  making  ready  to  be  another 
and  more  humane  William  Douglas,  not  unworthy  of 
him  who,  through  infinite  misunderstandings  and  short- 
comings, had  yet  been  my  true  husband. 

So,  much  comforted,  rising  up,  I  went  within.  And 
after  that,  even  as  the  Sol  way  tides  erase  a  name  writ 
upon  the  sands,  that  of  James  Douglas  came  no  more 
into  my  heart  as  the  name  of  a  man  I  had  loved. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE   WOODS   OF   BIRNAM 

Now  the  life  at  Stirling  grew  not  to  be  long-time  endured 
by  me.  The  chamber  where  the  blow  was  stricken,  the 
yard  where  the  dead  lay  buried,  the  vaunting  courtiers, 
the  painted  courtesans  parading  the  town  with  their 
scented  lovelocks  and  empty  mirth,  all  bore  so  heavy  on 
my  spirit  that  I  was  like  to  die,  just  to  look  from  my 
window  and  see  it  all. 

Then  it  was  that  Laurence  (who  to  hide  his  sometime 
abbatical  dignity  was  now  called  by  the  King's  name, 
"Laurence  Stewart")  proved  kind  with  a  kindness 
which  cannot  be  counted  in  tale,  or  weighed  in  any 
balance. 

For  one  thing  he  took  upon  him  to  spare  me  the  pain 
of  coming  and  going  to  the  royal  table,  being  great  with 
James  Stewart,  and  he  of  the  Fiery  Face  refusing  him 
nothing.  Nevertheless  at  first  the  King  would  allow  no 
further  relaxation  of  watchfulness  than  to  permit  me  to 
abide  in  my  own  apartment  in  the  palace.  So  it  is  small 
wonder  that  I  waxed  pale  of  face  and  of  my  person 
meagre  to  look  upon.  For  myself  I  thought  that,  having 
seen  the  dead  that  first  night  of  my  arriving  at  Stirling, 
I  also  should  surely  die.  For  so  runs  the  rune,  and 
indeed  I  was  no  ways  unwilling  it  should  be  so. 

But  I  was  to  find  that  it  is  not  given  to  a  woman  to  die 
when  she  will.  Many,  pressed  by  griefs  and  falsities, 
have  tried  it,  and  prayed  to  God  for  it  sore  and  often, 
but  save  at  the  knife's  edge,  it  is  not  granted  to  woman's 
heart  thus  to  break  and  pass  like  a  bubble  that  is  blown. 
So  I  did  not  die,  pray  as  I  might. 

Then  at  last,  when  Laurence  had  prepared  the  plans 
for  certain  great  new  cannon,  which  he  and  his  father 
were  to  forge  somewhere  on  the  straths  by  Carron 
Water,  he  besought  the  King  again  to  permit  me  to  retire 

327 


328  MAY   MARGARET 

from  the  court,  to  some  more  peaceful  and  quiet  habi- 
tation. 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  King,  "  I  know  you,  Sir  Laurence. 
You  would  have  her  back  to  her  own  country  again, 
where  every  third  man  is  a  disbanded  rebel,  every  second 
a  dour  Douglas,  and  ilka  man,  woman,  and  bairn  a  born 
traitor  to  the  King !  Na,  na,  Stewart  in  name  though  you 
be,  ye  shall  not  wile  the  lass  back  in  her  turbulent  south- 
land. Let  her  gang,  an  it  please  her,  to  the  guid  Grey 
Toon  o'  Dunfermline,  where  it  sends  its  reek  up  foment 
Edinburgh  hersel'.  Or  let  her  gang  to  the  kind  woman 
folk  at  Birnam,  near  to  Dunkeld,  where  is  a  nunnery,  and 
a  bonny  water  rinning  clear  an'  broon,  wi'  grand  fish 
for  the  catchin'  and  the  rae  deer  jookin  goot  o'  ilka 
covert.  Let  her  choose !  But  to  the  south  she  shallna 
gang!  " 

So  it  came  about  that  to  Birnam  I  went,  where  the 
house  of  the  good  Sisters  of  Peace  looked  down  on  the 
towers  of  the  cathedral  out  of  a  kind  of  green  silence. 

Then,  indeed,  there  was  time  for  rest  and  thought,  most 
sweet  and  needful  to  me.  For  though  I  minded  not 
greatly  at  the  time  the  battering  of  Mons  Meg,  and  the 
terrible  thunderbolts  which  she  launched  upon  us,  yet 
when  all  was  over  and  done  with,  I  dared  not  walk  by 
the  archery  butts  for  fear  of  the  whistle  of  arrows.  And 
if  so  much  as  a  hare  broke  from  a  fern  at  my  feet,  or  a 
blackbird  chattered  among  the  bushes,  I  would  leap 
and  cry  aloud  like  a  halfling  dairymaid,  at  play  round 
the  corn-stalks  with  the  lads  what  time  the  gloaming 
falls. 

But  at  Birnam  we  dwelt  in  a  kind  of  tranced  peace.  The 
Superior  was  of  the  King's  house — cousin-german,  in- 
deed, to  that  knight  of  Lorn  whom  his  mother  had  mar- 
ried after  his  father's  death  at  Perth — a  woman  well  on 
in  years  and  who  showed  me  much  favour  from  the  first. 
This,  I  fear  me,  was  not  wholly  on  my  account.  Lideed  I 
cannot  lay  it  in  any  part  to  my  own  credit. 

Now,  how  the  loon  managed  it  I  know  not,  but  from  the 
very  first  the  Mother  Superior  took  a  vast  liking  to 
Laurence,  saying  that  he  was  the  moral  and  image  of 


THE   WOODS    OF   BIRNAM  329 

her  brother  John,  who  had  died  in  his  youth,  stricken  in 
the  eye  with  a  lance  in  some  tournaying  in  France. 

Perhaps  Master  Laurence  gave  the  lady  to  know  that, 
though  now  permitted  by  the  highest  authority  to  return 
to  the  world  and  carry  mail  and  casque,  he,  too,  had  once 
in  his  time  worn  the  robe  ecclesiastic,  and  gone  on  great 
embassies — yea,  even  to  the  Holy  See  itself.  At  all 
events,  so  it  was.  Laurence  had  extraordinary  privi- 
leges among  the  Little  Sisters  of  Peace,  and  I,  as  a  guest 
and  the  King's  ward,  still  more  as  his  friend,  could  do 
much  as  I  chose  in  the  house  of  these  good  women  of 
Birnam. 

This,  as  I  say,  came  about  out  of  no  great  love  for  me 
on  the  part  of  the  most  excellent  Mother  Agneta;  for, 
truth  to  tell,  save  Maud,  I  have  never  drawn  ordinary 
women  to  me,  nor  been  wholly  happy  in  their  society. 
For  the  most  part,  they  have  been  to  me  (saving,  of 
course,  Maud)  as  so  much  unripe  fruit,  chattering  and 
back-biting,  becking  and  bowing  their  heads  over  some 
scraplet  of  news,  or  breaking  their  backs  at  some  end- 
less broidering  of  bed-covers. 

Now  men,  even  in  their  wrong-doing,  are  not  so.  They 
wring  the  purple  juice  from  the  grapes  in  full  vintage — ■ 
yes ;  they  eat  the  apples  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil  till  the  fiery  sword  drives  them  forth,  waving  every 
way  before  the  port  of  Paradise !  But  they  do  not — at 
least,  not  the  men  I  have  known — speak  evil  of  their 
neighbours  behind  backs,  nor  make  of  the  house-place, 
from  roof-tree  to  cellarage,  a  fret  and  a  brawling,  with 
their  railing  accusations  and  the  yelp  of  their  ill-natured 
yatter. 

By  St.  Bride,  I  would  choose  rather  to  spend  ages  in 
Purgatory  with  some  sinner  of  sins,  great  and  strong, 
apparent  as  Lebanon  and  salt  as  the  sea,  rather  than  share 
an  alcove  in  Paradise  with  suchlike  women.  And  that 
is  my  mind  upon  the  matter — concerning  which  enough 
said.  Mayhap  'tis  more  than  will  be  held  to  my  credit. 
Many  women  there  are  whose  ways  and  hearts  are  other- 
wise— only,  saving  Maud,  I  have  not  met  them. 

So  as  I  have  related,  Laurence  of  the  King's  nam? 


330  MAY    MARGARET 

came  over  to  Birnam,  as  often  as  his  Majesty's  zeal  for 
military  enginry  would  permit  him  to  steal  away  from 
the  making  of  cannon. 
And  the  oftener  he  came,  the  better  pleased  was  Sister 
Agneta,  till  at  last  she  got  to  calling  him  her  brother 
John,  and  ended,  as  I  think,  by  believing  herself  that 
he  was  indeed  of  her  blood  and  family — all  of  which  was 
of  little  enough  consequence  to  a  young  woman  like  my- 
self, save  as  matter  for  laughter  afterwards. 

So  in  the  woods  of  Birnam  Laurence  and  I  walked,  as 
we  had  done  (it  seemed  a  myriad  of  years  gone)  in  those 
of  Cour  Chevemey.  But  there  was  no  making  of  mill 
wheels  now,  nor  any  setting  of  paper  boats,  cunningly 
devised,  adrift  down  the  swift-running  Tay.  Once,  I 
remember,  Laurence  tried  it.  But  the  old  sunlight  that 
had  glinted  through  the  white  poplars  at  Cour  Cheverney 
and  even  gilded  the  birches  on  the  Balmaghie  slopes, 
would  not  shine  for  us  on  Tayside  and  in  the  midst  of 
this  drear  December. 

Faintly  we  smiled  to  each  other  at  the  lack  of  success, 
and  I  for  one  knew  that  for  the  present,  at  least,  the 
house  of  life  was  left  to  me  empty  and  desolate.  In 
my  cupboards  there  were  no  more  any  conserves  of  de- 
light. The  palaces  were  emptied  of  myrrh  and  aloes 
and  cassia,  and  I,  who  had  been  reared  as  a  king's 
daughter,  whose  garments  had  been  of  wrought  gold, 
walked  in  a  black  widow's  weeds  among  an  unwedded 
sisterhood. 

My  husband?  He  had  fled  to  England.  And  I  knew 
him.  While  I  lived  he  would  return  no  more.  Soon  he 
would  find  some  pretext  for  divorce — that  I  abode  with 
the  King  of  Scots,  that  I  companied  with  his  enemies — • 
anything — so  that  he  might  put  me  from  him  in  name  as 
he  had  already  done  so  in  fact. 

Yet  to  all  this  I  was  strangely  callous.  For  in  me  also 
there  was  part  of  the  Douglas  heritage.  From  the  first 
of  our  race,  with  here  and  there  an  exception  to  make 
sure  the  rule,  the  Douglases  had  been  ready  to  forget  that 
which  they  left  behind.  Did  not,  for  the  sake  of  the 
glory  of  battle  and  the  heady  whirlwind  of  the  charge. 


THE   WOODS    OF    BIRNAM  -331 

our  Good  Sir  James  himself  forget  the  sacred  mission 
he  had  sworn,  to  lay  the  heart  of  the  Bruce  in  holy  earth  ? 
And  as  he,  so,  and  with  worse  excuses,  the  others! 

Some  for  the  honour  of  military  renown,  some  for  glory 
in  the  State  (and  of  these  last  the  chief  was  he  who  had 
died  at  Stirling),  others  for  a  fair  woman — as  my  well- 
beloved  brother  William,  who,  ere  at  Edinburgh  they 
cut  off  his  comely  head,  lifted  up  the  goblet  and  drank 
his  last  toast  to  the  woman  who  had  betrayed  him,  in 
these  words,  memorable  amongst  us  for  ever: 

"  I  drink  to  you,  my  lady  and  my  love !  " 

Some,  not  one  woman  only,  tempted  to  forget  the  things 
that  lay  behind.  And  of  such  was  that  strong  man 
James  Douglas — strong,  yet  like  to  the  statue  with  the 
head  of  gold  and  the  feet  of  clay  seen  by  the  prophet. 
He  was  not  born  to  be  faithful,  this  James  of  Douglas, 
and  now,  after  the  first  wrench,  the  keen  jarring  fang  of 
the  viol's  string  as  it  broke — lo !  I  cared  as  little  for  him 
as  he  for  me. 

At  Birnam  I  had  liberty  to  sit  at  ease  in  these  sweet 
solitudes,  and  with  peaceful  books  to  while  away  the 
hours.  Lives  of  saints  and  suchlike  were  there  in  loads 
— every  page  a-drowse  with  dreamiest  opiates,  poppy, 
Pulsatilla,  mandragore.  Nevertheless,  with  the  Douglas 
unrest,  I  yearned  for  other  things  than  this,  and  that  be- 
fore long  I  desired  to  be  as  free  in  name  as  in  reality.  By 
the  King's  mandate  of  annulment  of  my  marriage  ?  No  ! 
I  could  have  had  that  for  the  asking.  By  the  dissolving 
power  of  the  Holy  Father?  Three  times  no.  I  had 
surely  more  than  enough  of  his  holy  Bulls.  They  were 
Bulls  barren,  without  power  to  bind  or  loose,  without 
power  or  progeny.  "  The  Pope's  Bulls  get  no  calves !  " 
quoth  the  profane  under  their  breaths. 

No,  James  Douglas  himself  would  of  a  certainty  serve 
my  turn.  Give  him  line  enough,  and  a  little  time.  He 
would  remarry  him.  Neither  the  thought  of  the  woman 
who,  in  the  gardens  of  Thrieve,  had  waited  ten  years  in 
silence  and  solitude,  only  that  at  the  end  he  should 
betray  her — no,  nor  yet  the  memory  of  the  girl  who  had 
shed  her  blood  that  she  might  save  his  life  would  have 


ZZ2  MAY    MARGARET 

a  moment's  power  to  hold  him  back  when  the  desire  of 
the  eye  came  upon  him.  I  knew  the  breed — a  right 
strong,  mascuhne,  give-and-take  breed  it  is.  but  not  one 
fortunate  to  the  end.  The  hand  of  the  Righteous  is 
against  it !  At  the  end  of  its  lusting  it  shall  pull  down 
the  branch  and  bite  the  Sodom  apple,  to  find  therein 
only  dust  and  ashes — exceeding  bitter  fruit. 

James  Douglas  was  like  the  man  I  had  heard  Laurence 
read  of  in  his  Latin  Scripture.  He  could  take  his  sword 
and  go  forth  to  rob,  and  to  slay,  and  to  sail  upon  the 
sea.  He  could  look  forth  like  a  lion  into  the  darkness, 
and  after  he  had  slain  and  robbed  and  returned,  he  would 
lay  all  at  the  feet  of  his  love — his  new  love  whom  he  had 
found  and  drawn  to  him  by  the  same  power  wherewith 
he  had  drawn  me — me  and  That  Other. 

But  at  the  uttermost  end  of  all,  God,  sitting  still  on 
High,  w^ould  enter  into  judgment  with  the  strong  man ! 

Thus,  in  the  meantime,  I  was  not  ill-content  to  abide 
at  Birnam  and  await  the  things  which  I  knew  would 
come  to  pass.  Here  Laurence,  riding  mostly  from  Stirl- 
ing and  returning  ere  he  was  missed  to  the  forging  of 
his  cannons,  was  my  chief  visitor,  and  certainly  he  was 
the  one  best  pleasing  to  the  Lady  Superior. 

And  after  a  time  there  came  back  to  his  eyes  some  part 
of  his  old  innocent  boyish  insolence.  For  this,  too.  I 
liked  him  only  the  better.  No  ways  as  great  as  Sholto 
was  Laurence  McKim — far  from  being  so  good.  Yet, 
I  think  he  suited  me  best.  I  had  no  wish  to  marry  him, 
God  knows,  yet  had  he  set  about  to  marry  himself  to 
another  woman,  I  had  never  cared  to  look  man  in  the 
face  again.  And  I  had  had  that  feeling  almost  from 
the  time  I  was  a  girl.  Even  at  Cour  Cheverney,  if  I 
could  have  disposed  of  myself  I  would  have  chosen 
Laurence.     Or,  at  least,  so  it  seems  now. 

Sholto  could  do  great  things — not  only  could,  but  did 
them  as  they  came — making  them  only  part  of  his  daily 
work.  Great,  simple,  large  of  heart  and  determinate  in 
action,  it  was  difficult  to  find  a  fault  in  him.  I  suppose 
Maud  knew  of  many  such  that  he  had.  But  if  she  did — 
at  least  she  never  named  them  to  me. 


THE   WOODS    OF   BIRNAM  333 

But  with  Laurence  all  was  otherwise.  He  had  his  mo- 
ments of  something  like  pettishness.  He  would  keep 
aloof  from  Birnam  for  weeks,  judging-  that  I  had  not 
used  him  well  enough,  or  with  some  light  word  of  mine 
rankling  in  his  heart,  like  a  thorn  in  the  flesh. 

Thus  one  day  I  asked  how  he  could  bring  himself  to 
aid  in  the  breaking  down  of  Thrieve  by  great  bolts  of 
cannon,  knowing  what  he  knew — that  not  only  was  I 
there,  but  another  woman,  the  wife  of  his  brother,  and 
with  her  five  little  children. 

Right  sharply  he  answered  me. 

"  Whether  or  not  I  had  assisted,  the  bolt  would  have 
been  launched  just  the  same.  The  castle  would  have 
fallen.  All  that  I  did  was  to  make  the  blow  sharp  and 
sure.  Moreover,  my  brother  Sholto  was  Captain  of 
Thrieve,  had  been  so  for  many  years,  and  I  judged  that 
he  could  find  means  to  protect  his  own ! " 

Then  I  asked  him  another  question. 

"  And  in  all  this,  did  you  never  once  think  of  me  ?  Or 
had  you  already  become  a  Stewart  ?  " 

He  answered  me  with  a  sudden  flash  of  anger,  such  as 
Sholto  would  never  have  shown  to  any  woman. 

"  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  the  man,  your  husband !  " 

"  Ah,"  I  asked  again,  "  and  pray,  Laurence  Stewart, 
what  did  you  think  concerning  him  ?  " 

"  This,"  he  cried  the  words  fiercely,  "  each  time  I  pointed 
the  cannon,  I  prayed  that  the  ball  might  strike  him  dead  !  " 

"  Ah,"  I  answered  provokingly,  "  I  knew  you  were  a 
man  powerful  in  prayer!  Give  me  your  blessing,  holy 
man!" 


CHAPTER    XLV 

THE   PEACE   OF    ZIMRI 

At  last  there  came  for  me  a  certain  glad  day  when  the 
ploughs  on  all  the  open  straths  were  blithely  upturning  the 
fallow,  and  the  whole  world  was  filled  with  the  swirling 
of  white  gulls  and  the  smell  of  fresh  red  earth — a  heart- 
some  day  it  was  and  a  heartsome  thing  its  morning  hours 
brought  me. 

For  several  weeks  Laurence  had  appeared  and  disap- 
peared at  intervals,  saying  no  more  than  that  he  was  upon 
the  King's  business.  And  I,  thinking  in  my  heart  that  he 
might  have  told  me  more,  and  doubtless  some  deal  nettled 
at  his  silence,  had  held  my  tongue  and  refrained  from 
questioning  him — which  (I  confess)  was  far  from  being 
my  habit. 

But  this  one  day,  by  the  grace  of  the  Lady  Agneta,  he 
entered  into  my  chamber,  and  with  a  serious  face,  asked 
me  to  come  to  the  door,  for  there  were  certain  poor  per- 
sons there,  begging  for  my  assistance.  But  I  believed  him 
not.  For  at  this  time  it  was  his  delight  to  take  me  in 
and  cheat  me  into  believing  absurdities,  rejoicing  thereat 
afterwards,  like  a  very  schoolboy.  The  which  was  foolish 
of  him,  yet  nevertheless  a  cheerful,  likeable  trait  after 
all,  speaking  of  a  heart  light  and  easeful  within. 

So  for  a  while  I  would  not  go  forth,  fearing  ridicule. 
Because  in  his  eye,  for  all  his  grave  mien,  there  abode  a 
certain  lurking  twinkle  which  aforetime  had  betrayed  his 
evil  intents  to  me  more  than  once.  But  at  long  and  last 
I  did  go  to  the  little  wicket-gate  of  the  convent. 
Laurence  threw  it  wide  open. 

And  there  before  my  eyes  stood  Maud,  my  Maud,  with 
all  the  five  children  about  her,  and  behind,  halting  a  little 
upon  a  staff  and  greatly  paler  than  was  his  wont,  I  saw 
Sholto !     I    kissed    them    all — yes,    even    Sholto,    who 

334 


THE    PEACE    OF    ZIMRI  335 

blushed  and  stammered  that  he  was  not  worthy — that  I 
was  his  Hege  lady  and — other  things  which  I  forget. 

Whereat,  so  glad  was  I,  that  I  kissed  him  again,  having 
ever  a  greedy  tooth  for  kissing  and  nothing  to  wear  it  on 
of  late. 

Which  observing,  Laurence  looked  so  fain  that  I  drew 
myself  apart  with  Maud,  and  bade  her  tell  me  all  there 
was  to  tell  of  her  journey,  and  where  she  meant  to  abide. 
Then  it  came  out  that  Master  Laurence  had  interceded 
with  the  King  for  the  pardon  of  Sholto.  And  he,  antici- 
pating in  the  future  a  need  of  such  knights,  as  he 
had  said  before,  was  easy  to  be  entreated.  So  he  had 
given  the  little  tower  called  the  Larg  of  Kenmore  upon 
Tayside  to  Sholto  to  dwell  in,  and  (said  he)  "  If  your 
Lady  Margaret  is  waxen  weary  of  her  nunneries  and 
mummeries,  let  her  also  go  thither  and  keep  the  bairnies' 
frocks  in  order.  It  will  be  better  work  than  a  Douglas 
hath  set  hand  to  in  this  realm  for  some  while !  " 

So,  adieus  being  said,  through  the  pleasant  fields  and 
fringing  woods  we  betook  us  to  Kenmore,  Maud  keeping 
close  to  Sholto  that  she  might  watch  his  face,  causing  him 
to  get  off  and  rest  as  often  as  she  discovered  a  trace  of 
fatigue.  In  time,  however,  we  reached  our  goal,  and  lo ! 
this  thoughtful  Laurence  of  ours  had  the  house  all  fitted 
and  arranged.  (It  was,  as  to  its  building  a  small  farm- 
fortalice.  not  a  great  castle  like  Thrieve.)  And  whenever 
I  had  been  ill-natured  with  him  he  had  hugged  himself, 
thinking,  "  Ah,  wait.  Mistress  Margaret,  till  that  which 
is  coming,  comes !  Then  will  you  not  be  sorry  for  these 
hard  speeches  and  averted  eyes !  " 

And  I  was  sorry,  but  not  so  sorry  as  he  thought  or 
expected.  Because  I  was  glad  that  Laurence  should  have 
the  heart  within  him  to  care  so  much  of  making  others 
happy.  The  men  I  had  dealt  with  hitherto  had  not  the 
like  much  in  mind — no,  not  even  William  Douglas. 

The  Larg  of  Kenmore  was  a  place  in  which  one  might 
well  be  content  to  grow  old.  Also,  none  could  wish 
for  better  and  more  loving  company  than  that  of  Maud 
and  Sholto.  It  had  but  one  drawback:  it  was  farther 
from  the  King's  palace  at  Stirling,  ajid  so,  of  consequence, 


336  MAY    MARGARET 

we  saw  less  of  Laurence,  or,  at  least,  he  came  seldomet 
Yet,  abiding  in  the  house,  where  his  bed  was  made  down 
every  night  and  his  platter  laid  for  every  meal,  it  was 
happiness  of  a  better  kind  than  when  I  saw  him  but  for 
an  hour  or  two  at  the  nunnery  overlooking  the  towers 
of  Dunkeld. 

Yet,  because  in  the  course  of  this  history  I  have  had 
much  to  tell  of  these  still  places,  where  the  crying  of  a 
bird  or  a  change  in  the  wind  is  a  subject  for  an  hour's 
converse,  and  the  new  moon  seen  over  the  right  shoulder 
an  occasion  of  festival,  I  shall  say  little  about  the  Larg 
of  Kenmore. 

It  was  not  by  my  choice  that  I  spent  so  great  part  of  my 
time  in  such  quietnesses.  I  did  not  make  my  life — no,  nor 
any  part  of  it,  saving  perhaps  when,  in  ignorance  and 
perversity,  having  to  choose  between  two  brothers,  like 
a  woman  I  preferred  the  less  worthy.  But  the  rest  of 
my  life  has  been  what  men's  power  and  men's  ambitions 
have  made  it.  God  is  over  all.  I  doubt  it  not.  He  is 
great ;  but  he  seems  to  me  so  great  that  he  interferes  but 
little  in  the  things  of  yesterday  and  to-day  and  to-morrow. 

Yet,  mayhap,  I  do  not  see  fairly  or  judge  aright.  Had 
I  been  a  common  woman,  without  a  groat,  living  in  a 
better  time,  belike  I  had  not  had  this  to  say,  as  I  do  say 
it  from  my  heart ;  but  with  Galloway  and  the  Border- 
lands, Ettrick  Forest  and  Carrick,  for  my  dower,  I  was, 
as  I  have  said,  little  better  than  a  hand-ball  propelled  by 
the  players,  William  and  James  of  Douglas,  James  Stew- 
art the  King,  and  Crichton  the  Chancellor. 

And  as  for  God,  doubtless  he  watched  from  behind 
the  window-lattice  of  his  heaven ;  but,  alas !  he  did 
nothing. 

So  at  least  I  thought  at  the  time.  True,  afterwards  I 
came  to  see  better  of  it  when,  despoiled,  mine  estate  and 
quality  made  worth  no  man's  while,  I  tasted  at  last  the 
grave  and  dulcet  securities  of  poverty. 

But  was  I  not  speaking  of  the  Larg  of  Kenmore,  round 
which  the  heather  ringed  itself,  and  at  whose  very  door- 
step the  whaups  and  wild  moor-fowl  cried  suddenly  in, 
making  the  bairns  laugh  at  their  meals  ? 


THE   PEACE   OF   ZIMRI  337 

Sholto  grew  slowly  better,  his  wounds  healing,  like 
those  of  a  child,  by  the  first  intention.  But  one  day 
there  came,  sudden  as  the  imbursting  of  one  of  the  gran- 
ite bolts  of  Mons  Meg — Malise  himself! 

I  was  in  the  little  hardly-won  garden  sitting  by  myself  in  a 
sheltered  summer-house.  I  could  see  the  house-door. 
It  stood  open,  and  in  the  dusk  of  the  chamber  on  a  couch 
lay  Sholto,  with  Maud  Lindsay  cherishing  him — some- 
times with  gentle  touches  that  were  not  quite  caresses, 
but  more  often  with  lifted  finger  and  the  same  chidings 
and  forbidding  with  which  in  time  of  sickness  she  en- 
treated her  children. 

The  bairns  themselves  were  without  the  gate  with 
Donald,  the  herd  of  the  Larg,  no  doubt  tumbling  and 
wrestling  among  the  heather  like  young  dogs  at  play. 

I  heard  the  click  of  the  yett,  with  which  at  night 
Donald  barred  in  Sholto's  scanty  stock  of  bestial — for 
there  were  still  wolves  a-many  in  the  fastnesses  of  Ken- 
more.  I  sat  frozen  dumb  with  apprehension.  There 
stood  Malise  McKim,  looking  dourly  at  the  little  white 
house  sleeping  in  the  sun.  Surely  never  grimmer  wolf 
glared  at  sheepfold,  than  the  brain-clouded  Smith  of 
Carlinwark  upon  the  Larg  of  Kenmore. 

Before  I  could  move  or  cry  out,  he  advanced  with  half- 
a-dozen  great  strides  across  the  yard  and  paused  at  the 
door,  his  bulk  blocking  the  entrance.  I  think  he  could 
see  his  son  lying  on  his  couch,  and  at  the  sight  his  hand 
instinctively  sought  his  dagger. 

Had  not  this,  his  first-born  son,  separated  himself  from 
all  his  family?  Had  not  he  and  he  alone  balked  the 
McKims  of  their  revenge?  For  what  purpose  had 
Malise  McKim  come  hither,  save  that  he  might  take  a 
second  and  surer  vengeance  upon  his  son  unfaithful  who 
had  stood  in  the  breach  till  James  Douglas  escaped? 

But  the  hand  of  Malise  had  not  so  much  as  reached  the 
inlaid  handle  of  his  dagger  before  Maud  stood  in  the 
doorway.  As  she  came  she  snatched  up  the  great  house- 
hold carving  knife  from  the  top  of  the  salt-box  where, 
of  habitude,  it  lay.  And  now  she  met  the  Armourer- 
Smith  in  the  doorwav. 


338  MAY    MARGARET 

I  could  see  her  clearly — Maud — but  what  a  Maud!  A 
lioness  defending  her  whelps,  a  she-wolf  at  the  den's 
mouth  on  the  side  of  Briariach — these  looked  somewhat 
less  fierce  than  she.  She  spoke  no  word.  She  only  stood 
there,  her  arm  a  little  drawn  together  as  if  to  strike,  her 
body  half  crouched  for  a  spring,  her  fingers  twitching  on 
the  haft.  And  this  was  Maud — my  Maud,  the  mother 
who  heard  the  babes  say  their  prayers  in  the  gloaming, 
and  every  day  taught  them  from  Holy  Writ  lessons  of 
love  and  sacrifice. 

"  Go  back !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  hoarse  as  that  of  a 
man  in  passion.  ''  Go  back,  Malise  McKim.  You  shall 
not  lay  hand  on  him  till  after  you  have  slain  me.  And 
I  will  slay  you  first.     God's  help,  I  will !  " 

The  smith  looked  at  her  a  little  bewildered.  Then  he 
drew  his  hand  across  his  broad,  deeply  scarred  brow  with 
the  gesture  which  had  become  habitual  to  him.  His  eye, 
no  longer  lurid  or  dangerous,  seemed  rather  trying  to 
arrange  facts  he  did  not  comprehend,  to  make  something 
clear  to  himself. 

''  You  are  Sholto's  wife,"  he  said,  looking  at  her.  "  Yes 
— yes — I  mind.  He  married  young,  over  young.  I 
passed  the  children  on  the  moor."  (Here  Maud  drew 
a  long  breath  of  apprehension — divided  between  desire 
to  run  out  to  see  that  all  was  well  with  Marcelle,  with  the 
twins,  with  Ulric  and  little  David,  and  the  yet  more  press- 
ing need  of  abiding  where  she  was  to  defend  her  hus- 
band.) 

But  the  attitude  of  the  smith  was  reassuring,  even 
humble. 

He  looked  past  Maud  to  where  his  son  lay  on  his  couch. 
He  smiled  a  little  wistfully  at  him. 

"  Speak  for  me,  lad,"  he  said.  "  This  Highland  wife 
of  thine  takes  me  for  a  caird,  a  catheran,  one  that  would 
rieve  her  of  thee  or  carry  away  the  bairns.  Ye  have  a 
snod  bit  housie  here,  Sholto !  Bid  the  mistress  let  your 
auld  faither  come  his  ways  ben  and  rest  him  a  while. 
For  he  has  had  a  lang,  lang  road  to  travel,  and  never  a 
friend  to  cheer  him  by  the  way ! " 

He  looked   so  pitiful   that  Maud,   impulsive   at  times, 


THE    PEACE   OF   ZIMRI  339 

though  mostly  since  her  marriage  demure  as  a  puss, 
dropped  the  knife  and  caught  the  old  man  about  the 
neck. 

"  Indeed  and  indeed,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  heart-sorry  for 
my  ill-bred  temper.  Yet  am  I  of  Highland  blood,  and 
I  do  not  forget  either  good  or  evil !  Come  ben,  our 
father,  and  speak  peaceable  things  to  us — for  I  feared — 
I  feared " 

She  did  not  continue  the  subject,  and  perhaps  it  was  as 
well.  For,  it  soon  appeared,  one  dangerous  locker  of  the 
armourer's  mind  was  closed — for  the  time,  at  least. 

Malise  clapped  her  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"Feared?" — he  murmured  caressingly,  as  to  a  child; 
"  foolish  lass,  what  was  there  to  fear  ?  Is  not  Sholto 
the  eldest  of  my  bairns?  Are  not  you  another?  Where- 
fore should  I  hurt  mine  own?  I  have  been  at  the  Court 
and  I  am  tired — ^tired  of  being  grand — of  having  lackeys 
to  wait  on  me,  old  Malise  McKim !  And  they  told  me 
lies — lies — lies !  Indeed — they  do  naught  else  all  day  long 
that  I  can  see — these  courtiers  that  go  attired  in  scarlet 
and  blue  and  wear  devices  upon  their  mantles.  But  I 
see  through  their  lies  !  " 

By  this  time  he  stood  quite  close  to  his  son's  couch. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  touching  the  white  cloth  about  his  head, 
"  what  is  this  ?  Hast  fallen,  lad  ?  Who  hath  dealt  thee 
that  doom's  lunder  on  the  crown?  He  that  did  it  had 
some  skill  in  cudgel  play,  I  warrant  him.  For  even  when 
thou  wast  a  lad,  there  were  not  many  that  could  give 
thee  better — let  alone  the  breaking  of  thy  head !  " 

The  two  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  Sholto  was 
about  to  speak,  but  over  his  father's  shoulder  Maud 
made  a  sign  to  her  husband  to  be  silent. 

Was  it  possible  he  had  wholly  forgotten  Thrieve  and  all 
that  had  been  done  there?     It  seemed  like  it. 

The  old  man  bent  over  his  son.  He  had  the  aspect  of 
one  about  to  communicate  a  weighty  secret. 

"  Sholto,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  came  because 
they  told  me  that  you  dwelt  in  a  little  house  among  the 
heather,  and  underlay  the  King's  displeasure !  Laurence 
told  me  so — but  " — this  a  whisper — "  Sholto,  lad,  they — 


340  MAY   ]\IARGARET 

are — teaching— him — to — he — at — the — Court,    hke    the 
others !  " 

Sholto  shook  his  head,  but  took  his  father  gently  by  the 
hand. 

"  Care  naught  for  '  says-he  '  or  '  says-she,'  "  he  answered 
soothingly.  "  Laurence  is  your  own  son,  A  McKim  does 
not  lie!" 

The  smith  responded  nothing  for  a  while,  passing  his 
other  hand  to  and  fro  across  his  brow  a  little  wearily. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  my  own  son,  is  he?  A  McKim, 
is  he?  Why  then  does  he  call  himself  a  Stewart?  And 
why  then  does  he  compel  me  to  help  him  to  forge  cannon 
for  a  murderer?  " 

"  For  a  murderer? "  cried  Sholto  and  Maud  simulta- 
neously, in  the  greatness  of  their  astonishment. 

The  old  man  tip-toed  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  The 
heather  spread  twenty  leagues.  The  moor-birds  cried. 
Then  very  carefully  he  shut  it  and  came  back  to  the  side 
of  Sholto's  couch. 

"  Listen,"  he  whispered,  "  they  think  I  forget — that  I 
am  an  old  done  man.  But  I  do  not  forget.  How  should 
I  forget  that  once  I  had  a  master — like  to  none  the  world 
hath  seen!  What  of  him?  Who  enticed  him  to  his 
death?  One,  James  Stewart  by  name!  Who  sat  down 
to  dine  with  my  master?  James  Stezvart!  Who  rose 
up  with  him  and  led  him  apart,  his  arm  about  his  neck, 
as  friend  doth  with  friend. when  the  heart  is  full  and  free! 
Who  but  James  Stezvartf" 

He  struck  one  hand  hard  into  the  palm  of  the  other 
with  a  sound  like  the  crack  of  a  musket. 

"  But  the  jest's  cream  is  that  in  the  King's  house  they 
talk  of  naught  but  Thrieve  and  Mons  Meg  and  a  great 
victory  gained  over  the  Douglas  I  I  keep  a  serious  face, 
for  I  know  that  victory.  The  victory  was  gained  by  the 
traitor's  dagger  in  the  little  back-room  where  they  put  my 
Lady  Margaret  to  sleep  the  night  she  came  to  Stirling. 
There  they  gained  their  great  victory — these  Stewarts, 
and  he  the  chief  of  all,  the  Murderer  King  who  struck 
his  friend  to  the  heart,  his  hand  yet  warm  from  being 
about  my  master's  neck." 


THE    PEACE   OF   ZIMRI  341 

Then  with  a  pleased  expression  Maud  nodded  at 
Sholto.  The  armourer  had  forgotten  all  that  had  hap- 
pened after  the  death  of  WilHam  Douglas.  At  that 
moment  the  sound  of  the  voices  of  the  children,  as  they 
raced  homeward  athwart  the  heather,  came  sharply  in 
at  the  open  window.     Malise  started  up. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Hath  the  King  sent 
for  me  ?     Am  I  to  have  no  peace  in  this  world  ?  " 

"  They  are  but  the  voices  of  the  bairns,  father,"  said 
Maud  softly,  caressing  the  old  gnarled  hand  which  lay 
on  the  smith's  knee,  the  fingers  gathering  themselves  up, 
and  again  being  thrust  out  tense  and  hard.  "  You  shall 
have  peace  here  with  us,  our  father — so  long  as  it  pleases 
you  to  bide  !  " 

"  Peace — peace !  "  he  repeated,  with  a  hard  intonation, 
as  if  something  displeased  him  in  the  word.  "  Ah,  Sholto, 
lad,  you  are  here  under  the  King's  displeasure,  and  it  is 
well.     But  James  Stewart  shall  have  no  peace !     No !  " 

Then  with  extraordinary  fierceness  of  energy,  almost 
the  snarl  of  a  wild  beast,  he  added  these  words,  "  Had 
Zimri  peace  that  slew  his  master f  " 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

JACK  Neville's  anne 

It  was  on  the  third  day  of  the  stay  of  Malise  the  Smith  at 
the  house  of  the  Larg  of  Kenmore  that  there  came  a  mes- 
sage from  the  King,  at  StirHng,  commanding  with  all 
urgence  the  armourer's  presence  at  Carron  Straths, 
■  where  the  great  new  cannons  were  being  made  under 
Laurence's  care. 

This  seemed  greatly  to  excite  INIalise  McKim,  and  with 
much  roughness  of  speech  he  bade  the  messenger  begone, 
lest  a  worse  thing  should  befall  him.  But  Sholto  and 
Maud,  knowing  that  much  depended  on  the  complaisance 
of  the  old  man,  laid  it  upon  him  to  obey.  And  I  also,  fol- 
lowing the  hint  given  me  by  Maud,  commanded  him  to 
go  and  do  the  King's  will. 

He  took  a  strange,  lingering  look  at  me,  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  I  had  spoken  in  good  faith. 

*'  I  understand  your  ladyship,"  he  said.  "  Ye  shall  be 
richtit.  By  God's  ain  grace  ye  shall  be  richtit.  Ye  shall 
be  avenged  for  the  man  ye  lost  by  the  bluidy  hand  o'  the 
Stewart.  Bide  ye!  bide  ye!  There  shall  be  news  to 
send !  On  a  day — aye,  on  a  day  there  shall  be  news  that 
shall  gar  the  heart  o'  ilka  Stewart  stand  still  frae  Appin 
to  the  King's  pailace  o'  Stirling !  " 

So,  with  no  more  said,  Malise  the  Smith  took  his  mighty 
piked  staff  in  his  hand,  and,  without  so  much  as  a  Fair- 
good-day  to  any  in  the  house,  he  set  his  bonnet  on  his 
head,  and  strode  away  over  the  moor  as  he  had  come, 
disdaining  the  help  of  any  four-footed  creature ;  the  which 
was,  indeed,  as  well,  for  there  were  no  more  than  a 
pair  of  Highland  shelties  in  the  stables  of  the  Larg,  either 
of  whom  had  been  foundered  at  the  first  bog  by  the 
weight  of  the  Armourer  of  Carlinwark. 

342 


JACK    NEVILLE'S    ANNE  343 

When  he  was  gone,  we  spoke  with  more  ease  of  the 
strange  forgetfulness  of  Malise  McKmi,  and  what  it 
boded.  For  me  I  saw  in  it  naught  but  good.  He  had 
forgotten  Magdalen,  James  Douglas,  and  all  that  had 
since  befallen.  He  had  gotten  what  many  pray  for,  more 
than  for  the  forgiving  of  their  sins — that  is,  Forget- 
fulness. 

But  Sholto  was  not  so  sure.  He  foresaw  a  danger.  In 
time  of  flood  the  water  will  rise  behind  the  dam,  and  the 
sluices  were  shut.  The  anger  was  yet  hot  in  his  heart. 
With  Maud  or  with  the  little  children,  even  with  me,  it 
vanished.  The  old  nut-sweet  nature  came  forth  and  sat 
in  the  sun.  But  with  his  son,  once  or  twice,  a  certain 
dangerous  madness,  latent  and  essential,  showed  itself 
plainly.  Added  to  this,  Sholto  perceived  a  power  of  con- 
cealment altogether  unlike  the  Malise  we  had  known, 
whose  thought  was  a  spoken  word,  and  the  word  as  like 
as  not  a  blow. 

At  any  rate  we  were  all  greatly  relieved  when  the  smith 
obeyed  the  King's  mandate  and  strode  away  across  the 
heather  towards  Carron. 

Then  on  the  fourth  day  thereafter  came  Laurence  with 
news.  His  father  had  arrived  safely  at  Carron  straths, 
where  the  new  cannons  were  in  the  making.  He  had 
looked  with  his  usual  contempt  at  the  work  which  had 
been  done  during  his  absence  at  the  Larg  of  Kenmore. 
Without  saying  a  word  to  any  as  to  his  purpose,  he  had  set 
off  again  for  Stirling.  Then,  on  his  return,  he  declared 
that  in  the  new  task  the  King  had  set  him,  he  would  have 
none  save  his  sons  to  help  him,  and  not  even  all  of  these. 
Laurence  (who  called  himself  Stewart)  might,  he  said, 
go  and  set  up  a  forge  for  himself !  Likewise  Herries, 
who  had  in  a  manner  been  Laurence's  favourite,  might 
depart  with  him.  There  was  no  room  for  Stewarts  or 
Gordons  in  Malise  McKim's  forge! 

The  sudden  ill-will  with  which  Malise  dismissed  Lau- 
rence was  easily  enough  understood  by  us  who  had  seen 
with  pain  the  old  man's  lapses  of  memory.  But  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  both  Laurence  and  young  Herries,  who  had 
stood  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  at  Thrieve,  and 


314  MAY   MARGARET 

especially  in  the  making  of  Mons  Meg,  were  much  dis- 
countenanced by  the  Armourer's  treatment  of  them. 

Bui-  Laurence,  at  least,  was  not  long  so  affected.  He 
had  the  manifest  favour  of  the  King,  and  for  his  fidelity 
and  intelligence  had  been  promised  the  barony  of  Bal- 
veny — on  condition  that  he  should  choose  a  wife  pleasing 
the  King. 

Concerning  this  ]\Iaud  in  especial  loved  to  tease  him, 
alleging  that  the  King  had  scores  of  Highland  cousins, 
great  and  gaunt  as  pike  staves,  all  stalled  like  cows  in  a 
byre,  and  all  to  be  pensioned  off  with  a  man  apiece  and 
a  forfeited  forty-merk  Douglas  holding.  And  when,  for 
some  reason,  Laurence  grew  restive  under  these  words  of 
his  good  sister,  Sholto,  ever  kind  of  heart,  would  cry  from 
his  resting-chair,  "  Heed  her  not,  Larry !  I  thought  ye 
had  more  sense,  man!  What  is  it  to  thee  to  bear  that 
for  an  hour,  which  it  hath  been  my  lot  to  hear  ding- 
donging  for  years  fifteen  !  " 

Then  would  Maud  toss  her  head  and  declare  that  she 
would  go  to  her  own  folk,  taking  the  bairns  with  her. 
But  at  "this  Sholto  would  only  laugh  the  more  and  say, 
"  Aye,  Maud,  will  ye  so  ?  "  As  if  he  knew  better — which 
indeed  he  did. 

And  to  his  brothers,  Laurence  and  Herries,  Sholto  said 
kindlv,  "  There  is  little  enough  for  you  to  get  here,  lads, 
on  the  rough  side  o'  the  Larg  o'  Kenmore.  These  are 
not  the  fat  lands  of  the  Borel  and  of  Balmaghie.  But 
there  are  at  least  twice  twenty  score  o'  black-faced  sheep 
and  routh  o'  deer  on  the  hills,  and  as  for  sport— the  wild 
birds  o'  the  lochs  and  the  red  grouse  o'  the  heather  come 
clockin'  about  the  very  door ! " 

So  for  a  time  Herries  accompanied  the  Kenmore  herds 
to  the  hills,  helping  them  to  make  safe  and  commodious 
folds  with  closures  of  iron,  such  as  would  prevent  the 
wolves  and  foxes  from  entering.  For  it  was  again  the 
lambing-time,  when  was  need  of  special  care,  the  flocks 
being  of  necessity  abroad  all  through  the  night  watches. 

But  being  thus  exiled,  Laurence  bode  for  the  most  part 
about  the  house.  And  it  is  not  strange  that,  Maud  being 
much  taken  up  with  the  care  of  Sholto  and  with  the 


JACK   NEVILLE'S   ANNE  345 

learning  of  the  bairns,  it  fell  to  him  once  more  to  be 
much  in  my  company. 

Yet,  among  other  things,  I  noted  a  curious  shyness  in 
all  his  intercourse  with  me,  almost  something  of  apology 
and  humility,  as  if  he  were  conscious  of  having  done  me 
some  secret  wrong.  Though  what  that  could  be  it  was 
not  within  my  mind's  scope  to  imagine.  At  this  time 
also  he  would  call  me,  "  My  Lady "  and  "  My  Lady 
Countess,"  till  I  had  perforce  to  laugh  at  him  and  tell 
him  that  there  were  no  "  Lady  Countesses  "  under  the 
Fell  of  the  Larg — adding  that  I  had  now  lost  my  great- 
ness and  must  be  well  content  to  be  a  sorner  on  the  kind- 
ness of  my  good  friends  Sholto  and  Maud.  "  But,"  said 
I,  "  if  so  be  that  upon  occasion  you  have  time  to  remem- 
ber an  old  friend,  one  of  a  fallen  house — I  pray  you  send 
us  some  of  the  beef  and  greens  from  the  rich  pastures  of 
Balveny  to  eat  with  our  small  ale.  For  'tis  you.  Larry, 
that  are  to  be  the  great  man  now — carrying  a  king's  name 
and  all  the  rest  of  it !  "  So  I  continued,  vexing  him  for 
my  pleasure.  "  And  then  your  learning !  Why,  Lau- 
rence, lad,  they  will  make  a  fighting  archbishop  of  you ! 
For  the  vows  of  holiness,  as  I  read  them,  though  stiff 
as  to  the  shedding  of  blood,  give  a  man  every  liberty  to 
knock  out  his  adversary's  brains !  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  have  left  all  that  be- 
hind me  for  ever !  "  For  some  reason  he  loved  not  to  be 
reminded  of  his  monkish  life. 

I  can  see  him  yet  as  he  lay  outstretched  on  the  heather 
that  day,  his  eyes  downcast,  and  his  whole  mien  troubled. 
I  knew  by  instinct  that  there  was  something  coming — 
something  that  he  was  ashamed  to  tell  me.  But  I  was 
equally  resolved  that  I  would  do  nothing  to  aid  him,  or 
to  make  his  task  easier.  It  was  high  on  the  side  of  the 
Larg  fell  in  a  favourite  nook  of  mine.  All  my  life  I 
have  loved  falls  of  water — the  white  foam  plunging  into 
the  brown  deeps  of  the  pools,  shaded  with  the  greenest 
of  leaves,  whispering  and  rustling.  The  love  of  such- 
like hath  worked  into  my  soul — perhaps  because  I  was 
born  on  the  wide  flats  of  Dee,  which  the  Douglases  chose 
because  they  loved  not  to  have  aught  within  sight  to  over- 


346  MAY    MARGARET 

top  their  great  arrogant  selves,  an  it  were  not  their  own 
Castle  of  Thrieve. 

Here  then  in  a  little  linn  were  a  few  green  birks  about 
a  rock  on  which  I  could  sit  quite  dry,  and  yet  so  near  the 
water  that,  by  holding  out  my  hand,  I  could  feel  the  spray 
strike  cool  upon  it,  while  at  my  feet  there  was  a  smooth 
of  turf  for  one  of  the  bairns,  or,  as  it  might  be,  Laurence 
to  lie  upon.  I  had  chosen  it  so.  A  woman  who  hath 
been  twice  wedded,  and  made  as  little  out  of  it  as  I,  may 
surely  be  permitted  to  do  something  for  herself  ere  she 
begins  to  grow  old. 

Laurence  might  still  have  been  called  the  Young  Man  in 
Black,  even  as  at  the  taking  of  Thrieve.  And  I  do  think 
that  ever  after  he  conserved,  perhaps  from  his  training 
of  ecclesiast,  a  certain  gentle  austerity — which,  to  my 
eyes,  at  least,  appeared  very  becoming.  Slender  he  was, 
but  strong,  a  little  pale,  and  with  a  deep  line  of  thought 
trenched  between  his  brows.  Beside  him  I  felt  very 
ignorant.  Yet  he  would  never  correct  me  nor  directly 
counter  me  in  the  wildest  or  most  foolish  things  which  I 
asserted.  Only  at  some  future  time  he  would  lead  the 
talk  to  the  same  subject  and  with  a  certain  instinct  of 
nobility  which  was  natural  to  him,  would  in  a  breath  lay 
the  whole  clear  and  plain,  without  in  the  least  appearing 
to  reflect  upon  my  lack  of  knowledge. 

Ah,  what  a  pair  of  brothers  were  these  two,  Sholto  and 
Laurence  McKim — if  only  William  and  James  Douglas 
had  been  like  them  !  That  is  what  I  was  thinking  as  I  sat 
there,  holding  out  my  hand  fitfully,  and  letting  the  spray 
of  the  waterfall  drip  between  my  fingers.  Between 
whiles  I  looked  at  Laurence.  Then  suddenly,  to  hide  the 
sob  that  rose  in  my  throat,  I  took  a  handful  of  water  and 
cast  it  laughingly  upon  him.  For  of  the  brothers  Sholto 
was  Maud's  from  the  first,  and  as  to  this  Laurence — 
who  would  claim  him  ?  Had  I  not  as  mickle  right  as 
any? 

Then  the  devil  entering  into  me,  I  put  a  question  to 
him,  swiftly,  without  taking  time  to  count  the  cost,  as, 
indeed,  I  always  did  such  things. 

"Laurence,"  said  I,  "  were  you  ever  in  love?" 


JACK    NEVILLE'S    ANNE  347 

He  lifted  his  head  as  if  to  reproach  me.  Then,  thinking 
better  of  it,  he  only  shook  his  head. 

"  And  yet,  willy-nilly,  you  must  marry  ?  "  I  went  on  to 
tempt  him.  The  King  has  given  you  Balveny  and  its 
barony  on  such  and  such  conditions.  Only  I  advise  you 
not  to  marry  for  love.  That  is  the  easiest  way  to  make 
shipwreck  of  the  King's  favour.  Stick  to  one  of  Maud's 
Highland  Stewarts — the  King's  kin,  with  a  pedigree  as 
long  as  her  nose,  and  rank  high  as  her  cheek  bones  1 " 

"  I  shall  not  marry,"  he  answered,  slowly  picking  the 
fronds  from  a  bracken  one  by  one  and  throwing  them 
into  the  linn.  "  I  shall  not  bide  longer  in  Scotland  than 
is  necessary !  I  will  e'en  go  and  take  service  with  the 
King  of  France.  He  hath  made  me  advances  already, 
hearing  doubtless  some  bruit  of  the  battering  of  Thrieve 
with  the  great  cannon " 

He  stopped  short,  doubtless  seeing  some  pain  on  my 
face. 

"  Leave  Scotland,"  I  cried,  "  leave  me  ?  I  had — never 
— thought — it  of — you,  Laurence.  Though  why,  I  know 
not.  You  are  free.  None  can  say  but  you  are  free  to 
come  and  go.  But — but — then  I  shall  have  none  to  think 
of  me — care  for  me  !     I  thought  you  did,  Laurence !  " 

In  a  moment  he  had  thrown  himself  again  at  my  feet. 
He  had  stood  up  while  I  was  speaking,  as  if  against  his 
will  erected  and  elated  by  my  words.  Now  he  was  kneel- 
ing at  my  knees,  his  hands  clasped  as  before  an  altar  and 
all  the  soul  of  him  in  his  eyes. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  do  not  say  that.  It  is  wrong  to 
say  that.  I  love  you — God  knows — I  who  have  no  right 
to  love  you !  I  have  loved  ever  since  I  was  a  lad  in  the 
smithy,  and  saw  you  over  the  shoulders  of  the  men-at- 
arms  sitting  beside  the  Queen  of  Beauty  at  the  great  tour- 
ney. Yet  I  who  love  you  thus  am  as  a  dog,  a  mean 
thing  before  you.  You  will  spurn  me  when  you  know. 
And  justly.  I  have  here  with  me  a  letter  from  your  hus- 
band in  England.  I  have  brought  it  three  times  to  the 
Larg.  Thrice  I  have  carried  it  away  again.  I  feared — 
ah,  how  I  feared — that  he  summoned  you  to  him  in  Eng- 
land— and — that  you  would  go!" 


348  MAY    MARGARET 

He  paused,  all  shaking  with  the  vehemence  of  his  emo- 
tion.   His  hair  clung  dankly  about  his  brow. 

"  God's  grace !  "  he  murmured,  "  I  could  not  do  it.  I 
could  not  give  it.  But  I  am  stronger  now.  There  is 
your  letter.  Lady  Margaret.  And  try  to  forgive  the  man 
who  goes  from  you  wretched  and  heart-broken.  As  God 
is  in  his  heaven,  I  will  aid  you  to  return  to  your  husband. 
I  will  make  it  my  sacrifice  so  to  do.    Then  after  that " 

He  stopped,  with  the  mere  force  of  putting  restraint 
upon  his  emotion.  For  to  Laurence  AIcKim  these  things 
came  hard,  being  by  nature  reticent  and  of  few  words — 
that  is,  in  the  things  nearest  his  heart,  though  light 
enough  in  other  matters. 

But  I  laughed,  knowing  James  Douglas. 

'"  Open  and  read  the  letter,"  I  bade  him.  "  He  that 
was  my  husband  is  little  likely  to  send  across  the  border 
any  such  invitation  to  Margaret  Douglas.  Open — read ! 
Why,  man,  wherefore  do  you  shake  ?  Can  you  not  read  ? 
Are  you  not  a  clerk?  Have  you  forgotten  your  letters? 
Open,  I  say  !  " 

Yet,  for  all  that,  he  would  not.  So  at  the  last  I  snatched 
the  letter  from  his  hand,  broke  the  seal,  and  bade  him 
read. 

I  knew  James  Douglas's  scrawl.  He  ever  wrote  as  if 
with  the  point  of  a  dagger,  or,  rather,  with  a  wooden 
skewer  picked  from  a  butcher's  stall  in  the  market-place. 

Then  Laurence  read  aloud  the  words  which  I  append 
hereto. 


Dear  Cozin  Marget, — I  write  to  tell  j'Oii  that  I  am  marriet  to 
Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne,  she  that  was  Anne  Holland.  I  ken 
weel  that  ye  will  mak  no  wry  nor  scurvy  faces  over  this  news, 
but,  contrary-wise,  be  heart-glad  no  longer  to  be  tied  to  one  who 
is  forever  tripping  and  stumbling  towards  the  left  hand. 
Cozin  Marget,  I  wish  ye  weel.  I  wad  that  it  had  been  in  my 
wig-wagging  nature  to  be  a  better  man  to  you.  But  now  I  must 
e'en  do  the  best  I  can  for  Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne.  She  is 
bonnie  for  a  widow  woman,  and  young  also — but  hath  brocht 
me  no  portion.  If  you  have  aught  that  you  can  spare  from  your 
stocking-foot,  pray  remember  your  loving  Cozin  James.  For  in 
truth  I  am  in  hard  case  for  two  or  three  bunder  pound.  The 
King  hath  given  me  his  Order  of  the  Garter  for  a  bit  battle  I 


JACK    NEVILLE'S   ANNE  349 

focht  for  him  near  to  Shrewsbury,  and  for  cutting  aff  a  Welsh- 
man's head.  But  I  had  rather  he  had  given  me  the^five  hunder 
rose  nobles  he  promised  me  than  a  hale  cart-load  of  Garters. 

But  this  one  I  did  give  to  Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne  to  bind 
up  her  stockings  withal.  And,  indeed,  it  was  from  certain  giff- 
gaff  and  merriment  we  had  between  us  anent  the  matter,  in  Poor 
Jack  Neville's  sometime  rose  garden  that  Anne  and  I  cam  to 
think  of  being  marriet. 

I  hope,  dear    Cozin,  you  will  not  go  into  a  nunnery.  _  To  my 
mind  there  is  no  sense  in  such  places — but  instead,  I  prithee,  go 
find  a  better  man  than  me !     All  the  same,  fair  day  or  foul  day,  I 
am  resolvit  to  do  the  best  I  can  for  Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne. 
Whilk  Receive  from  Your  Loving  Cozin, 

James  of  Douglas. 

Above  all  do  not  forget  the  siller.  John  Tweedie,  a  merchant 
of  barkit  skins  in  the  Wellgate  at  Carlisle  town  is  a  safe  man  to 
send  it  by,  and  kens  me  weel.  If  it  is  a  matter  o'  a  thousand 
merks,  so  mickle  the  better. 

Written  from  my  lodging  in  Southwark  Borough  Town  where 
Anne  and  I  would  do  not  ill,  an  it  were  not  for  our  poverty. 
Aprile  the  30th. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Never  did  changes  more  curious  come  over  any  man's 
face  in  the  same  space  of  time  than  those  which  passed 
over  Laurence  McKim's  as  he  stood  before  me  reading 
and  rereading  Tames  Douglas's  letter.  I  admit  that  I 
watched  him  some  deal  mischievously,  and  at  the  end  1 
fairly  broke  into  a  tempest  of  laughter. 

But  Laurence  did  not  laugh.  He  took  the  matter  with 
great  seriousness,  not  knowing  my  husband  James  as  I 
did,  nor  comprehending  his  nature. 

"  Then  you  are  a  free  woman !  "  he  said,  folding  up  the 
letter  with  an  exceeding  attention  to  the  folds. 

"  I  am,  or  shall  be  soon ! "  answered  I,  without  taking 
my  eyes  off  his  face.  Then  all  at  once  I  remembered 
the  phrase  in  James  Douglas's  letter,  twice  repeated, 
how  he  must  try  now  to  do  his  best  for  Poor  Jack 
Neville's  Anne !  , 

At  that  there  came  a  wicked  thought  into  my  head. 

"  Laurence,"  I  said,  going  up  to  him  softly  and  looking 
into  his  eyes,  somewhere  in  the  middle  way  betwixt  tears 
and  laughter,  "  if  I  ask  you  a  question,  will  you  give  me  a 
true  answer?  " 

"  That  I  will !  "  he  said.     "  What  is  it?  " 


350  MAY    MARGARET 

"  But  it  is  a  favour  I  have  to  ask !  "  I  continued.  "  Will 
you  grant  it  ?  " 

"An  it  involved  the  damnation  of  my  soul!"  he  said, 
with  the  same  convincing  quiet. 

"  Then  mill  you,  too,  do  the  best  you  can  for  Poor  Jack 
Neville's  Anne f" 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

A  RARE  SALT  FELLOW 

Well,  after  a  time  and  a  time  Laurence  and  I  went  back 
to  the  Larg  together,  for  the  present  determined  to  say 
naught  about  the  matter,  till  I  should  have  gone  with 
my  letter  and  petition  to  the  King  and  the  Archbishop. 
For  though  divorce  was  not  at  any  time  the  canon  law  of 
Holy  Church,  yet  in  these  outland  realms  of  Scotland 
and  England  men  heeded  that  but  little  when  interest  or 
inclination  drove  them.  Moreover,  the  Pope,  his  Cardi- 
nals and  Bishops,  were  ready  enough  to  give  absolution. 
For,  be  he  priest  or  cardinal,  'twixt  Caithness  and  Kirk- 
maiden  all  were  in  the  King's  hands,  or,  worse  yet,  in 
those  of  the  great  houses.  And,  mostly,  a  Cardinal  ettled 
at  the  saving  of  his  like  just  like  another  man,  save 
Thomas  a  Becket  only.  But  in  my  time,  at  least,  there 
was  never  another  like  him  in  any  kirk  that  I  heard  tell 
of.  So  that  which  lay  before  me  to  perform  was  just 
this — that  I  should  go  to  the  King  and  ask  his  leave  to 
marry  Laurence,  and  live  retired  and  peaceably  there- 
after ;  the  which  permission  I  was  certain  of  obtaining — 
that  is,  for  a  price. 

So  Laurence  and  I  went  in  together,  and  I  showed 
Sholto  and  Maud  the  letter.  I  gave  it  to  them  laughing, 
though  there  was  a  kind  of  shame  in  my  heart,  too,  that 
ever  I  should  have  shared  bed  and  board  with  such  a  man. 
Yet  for  all  (I  own  it)  I  could  not  hate,  or  even  greatly 
dislike  James  Douglas.  As  he  said,  he  had  always  done 
his  best  for  the  "  Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne "  of  the 
moment.  Pity  was  that  his  best  proved  never  very  good, 
and  never  very  lasting. 

But  when  Sholto  McKim  read  the  letter,  his  countenance 
changed.  He  had  never  any  great  sense  of  the  humours 
of  life.  And  such  an  one  as  James  Douglas  was  clean 
out  of  his  ken. 

351 


352  MAY   MARGARET 

"  If  I  had  but  known  in  time  that  I  was  serving  such  a 
man,"  he  said  slowly  with  darkened  brows,  "  I  had  slain 
him  with  my  hand !  " 

Then  I  took  his  wounded  right  hand  and  kissed  it  ten- 
derly, so  that  his  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  For  even 
now — nay  more  than  ever  now — I  was  to  him  his  liege 
lady. 

"  You  did  better  work  with  this  your  hand,"  I  said, 
"  when  you  kept  the  breach  of  Thrieve  with  naught  but 
the  edge  of  your  broadaxe." 

And  as  for  Maud,  she  also  came  and  stood  beside  me, 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other  of  us,  but  not  laughing 
as  I  expected.    Then  I  saw  a  strange  thing. 

Maud  cared  nothing  for  that  which  made  me  laugh, 
naught  for  that  which  made  her  husband  hot  with  anger — 
in  itself  naught  for  the  letter  of  James  Douglas,  save — 
that  it  made  of  me  a  free  woman. 

She  kept  lookmg  from  one  to  the  other  of  us — troubled 
and  uncertain.  Under  her  summer  gown  I  could  see  her 
bosom  heave. 

Then  Maud  went  to  the  door,  and  turning  made  a  sign 
to  me. 

"  Shall  we  go  look  for  the  children?  "  she  said.  But  I 
knew  she  had  other  things  to  say  to  me  than  that.  We 
were  silent  till  we  had  put  the  house  of  Larg  a  hundred 
feet  or  so  beneath  our  feet  and  were  out  on  the  open 
fell. 

Then  she  spoke. 

"  Why  will  you  not  tell  your  Maud?  "  she  said  sadly. 

"  What  am  I  to  tell?  "  I  answered,  fencing  with  words. 

"  My  Lady  Margaret,"  she  said  with  dignity,  "  if  you  do 
not  deign  to  tell  me,  I  will  ask  no  more.  But  I  think — 
I  think — that  after  these  many  years  I  had  not  deserved 
this  from  you  I" 

And  she  began  to  sob. 

"  Maud — my  Maud !  "  I  cried  with  sudden  contriteness, 
"  I  will  tell  you  all  that  you  wish  to  know — all  there  is  to 
tell.  You  gave  me  a  home  with  you  when  I  had  none 
other  friends.  You  have  loved  me  all  my  life !  What  is 
there  I  would  not  tell  you  ?  " 


A   RARE    SALT   FELLOW  353 

"  And  now  you  hide  from  me — you  will  not  tell  me " 

"  Tell  you  what,  dear  Maud?  " 

"  What  Laurence  hath  said  to  you !  " 

At  this  I  laughed  outright.  For  somehow  I  seemed 
in  a  mood  to  laugh  that  day.  The  air  was  lighter,  rarer, 
of  a  more  intoxicating  charm.  It  scented  of  the  spring, 
and  I  seemed  sharply  to  regain  my  youth  again — the 
youth  that  had  never  been  mine.  Nay,  I  seemed  to  win 
it  rather  for  the  first  time,  savouring  its  sweetness  in  the 
very  wind  that  blew  off  the  hills  of  heather. 

"  Laurence  say  aught  to  me,  dear  Innocent !  "  I  cried  to 
her,  laughing.  "Ah,  but  it  is  our  own  dear  Maud  Lindsay 
who  is  the  matchmaker !  Would  Laurence  ever  have  had 
the  assurance  to  speak  of  love  to  Margaret  Douglas?  " 

Then  Maud  jerked  her  Highland  head  in  the  air. 

"  I  know  not,"  she  said.  "  His  brother  had  a  Lindsay 
for  the  asking!  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  I,  "  the  third  time  of  asking,  but  Lau- 
rence would  never  have  had  the  courage  to  ask  even 
once !  " 

"  Do  not  tell  me,"  she  said,  turning  suddenly  upon  me  as 
she  used  to  do  at  Thrieve  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  had 
been  misbehaving.  "  I  see  wickedness  and  deceit  in  your 
eye — in  that  of  Laurence,  too.  There  is  something  be- 
tween you  two.  You  need  not  deny  it — not  to  me.  You 
never  could  deceive  me,  even  when  you  were  a  little 
kilted  hempie  that  had  been  in  the  orchard  stealing  of  the 
sugar  plums.    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well "  I  began,  pouting  and  hesitating. 

Then  I  believe  verily  that  in  another  moment  Maud 
Lindsay  might  have  done  even  as  she  was  used  to  do 
in  those  ancientest  days  I  can  remember — when  on  one 
occasion  she  greatly  surprised  a  certain  spoilt  child  the 
morning  after  she  came  out  of  the  north  to  be  her  tutrix 
and  companion. 

"  Nay,"  I  said  hastily,  "  Laurence  said  naught  to  me. 
But — /  had  something  to  say  to  him." 

"What  was  it?"  she  demanded  fiercely.  "Tell  me 
all!" 

"  I  know — but  I  promised  not  to  tell !     Ask  himself !  " 


354  MAY    MARGARET 

I  cried  over  my  shoulder  and  ran  back  quickly  into  the 
house. 

She  called  one  sentence  after  me. 

"  I  might  have  thought !  "  she  said.  "  I  knew  all  the  time 
why  he  stayed  away  from  Thrieve !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

So  I  went  to  see  the  King,  Laurence  and  Herries  going 
with  me  to  be  my  squires  in  time  of  need.  We  rode  poorly 
and  unattended,  both  because  that  would  be  better  pleas- 
ing to  the  King,  who  loved  not  arrays  of  folk  riding  hither 
and  thither  athwart  his  kingdom,  and  also  because  unless 
we  had  taken  the  herds  from  the  hills,  there  were  no  other 
retinue  about  the  Larg  of  Kenmore  save  only  Sholto 
hirpling  on  his  crutch. 

First  we  went  to  Stirling  and  the  King  of  Scots  was  not 
there.  He  had  gone  to  Carron.  We  would  find  him  on 
the  straths,  they  said,  watching  the  forging  of  the  great 
cannon.  Quoth  another,  "  The  King  hath  gone  to  Edin- 
burgh to  make  him  ready  for  the  siege  of  Roxburgh 
castle — the  sole  strength  still  held  by  the  English  north 
of  Berwick  Bound.  He  cannot  abide  it  and  is  making 
ready  to  batter  it  down." 

From  Carron  to  Edinburgh  we  followed  on,  and  there 
at  last  we  found  the  King  marshalling  his  forces  upon  the 
Borough  Muir. 

"  Ah,"  he  cried,  catching  sight  of  me  first,  "  what  do 
you  here,  my  little  lady  of  Galloway?  Is  this  biding 
within  your  bounds?  Are  you  come  to  fight  for  us  or 
against  us?  Or  aiblins,  would  you  lead  a  partizan  revolt 
in  your  own  pretty  person?  And  what  doth  my  bold  Sir 
Laurence  of  the  Black  Plaid  in  your  company,  and  this 
young  McKim?  Wherefore  are  not  you  two  at  Carron 
with  the  engines  of  war  ?  " 

Then  I  smiled  at  him  and  said,  "  These  be  too  many 
questions  for  one  to  answer  all  at  once  even  to  pleasure 
a  king.  But  as  for  me,  I  have  come  to  show  your 
Majesty  this  !    And  not  for  that  alone  !  " 

So  with  that  I  drew  from  my  pocket  the  letter  of  James 
Douglas. 

And  then  and  there  before  all  his  men  the  King  read 


A   RARE    SALT    FELLOW  355 

the  letter  aloud,  from  "Dear  Cozin  Marget,"  all  the 
way  through  to  "  Written  at  our  lodgmg  in  Southwark !  " 

Then  he  laughed  very  loud,  as  was  his  custom,  slapping 
his  hand  upon  his  thigh  hard  and  often. 

"  Faith,  I  was  wrong,"  he  cried.  "  I  should  have  kept 
such  a  man  within  my  kingdom.  I  shall  never  find 
another!  He  is  salt  enough,  this  husband  of  yours,  to 
keep  all  the  butcher's  meat  in  Scotland  fresh  through  the 
dog  days.  He  puts  ofif  and  on  a  wife  as  I  would  a  glove — 
then  eke  writes  to  the  last  to  send  him  the  plenishing  siller 
for  the  new.  And  a  good  lance  too  he  was !  None  drave 
a  better.  And  Lord !  he  had  need — he  had  need !  Ho ! 
Ho !  A  rare  salt  fellow,  brined  through  and  through  like 
a  barrel-kept-herring — this  James  of  Douglas !  I  take 
pleasure  in  him.  I  take  great  pleasure  in  him — now  that 
it  is  too  late !  " 

For  after  his  kind  he  was  a  hearty  man — this  King  who 
could  murder  a  friend  with  a  dagger-stroke,  who  found 
his  way  about  among  the  commandments  ten,  much  as 
Alexander  solved  the  Gordian  knot.  A  hot-headed,  fiery- 
faced  butcher-man,  by  nature  a  fighter,  was  this  Stewart 
King — in  some  ways  not  unlike  our  own  James — though 
his  iniquities  were  rather  those  of  the  red  hand  and  the 
blow  struck  in  anger  than  the  good-natured  cavalier  wan- 
tonnesses  of  my  "  Dear  Cozin." 

Then  with  the  letter  still  between  his  fingers,  the  King 
cast  the  slantwise  Stewart  eye  upon  me  some  time  before 
he  spoke. 

"  And  now  I  suppose  ye  will  consider  yourself  a  free 
woman  and  a  wanter,"  he  said,  "  so  ye'll  e'en  be  comin'  to 
me  to  seek  ye  a  man !  " 

"  Nay,  King  James,"  I  made  him  answer,  "  that  I  have 
already  done  for  myself.  Two  I  have  had  chosen  for 
me — I  will  e'en  be  content  to  pick  the  other  without  the 
royal  bounty !  Besides,  the  King  has  mickle  on  his  mind, 
and  God  forbid  I  should  set  him  a  task  so  thankless  1 " 

"  And  wha  is  the  lad?  Tell  us,"  cried  the  King;  "  mind 
this  though — he  gets  neither  a  foot  o'  Gallowa  nor  o' 
Ettrick — never  an  inch  south  o'  the  Forth.  But  I  willna 
say  that  gin  he  be  a  decent  lad — I  will  not  maybe  gie  ye 


356  MAY   MARGARET 

a  park  or  twa  to  sow  your  oats  somewhere  at  the  back 
of  beyont !  " 

Then  all  at  once  he  seemed  to  forget,  returning  to  James 
Douglas's  letter,  which  he  rolled  like  a  morsel  under  his 
tongue,  savoury  and  sweet. 

"  '  Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne ! '  "  he  cried,  blattering 
again  on  his  thigh,  "  I  must  e'en  tell  that  to  the  bishop ! 
Yes,  by  the  saints,  Kennedy  will  taste  that,  I  warrant  him ! 
Sly  old  dog  that  he  is." 

I  stood  before  him  waiting  his  reply. 

"  Your  Majesty  has  not  yet  heard  the  name  of  the  man 
I  ask  your  permission  to  marry !  "  I  said  quietly. 

"Well,"  he  laughed,  "  'tis  somewhat  early  days  yet  to  be 
thinking  o'  that,  when  ye  hae  gotten  never  a  line  frae  holy 
Kirk  nor  ony  permit  eccleciastical  to  stand  afore  the  altar. 
But  you  Douglases  were  aye  forehandit.  Wha  is  the 
loon?" 

"  He  is  of  your  Majesty's  name,"  said  I,  "  and  like  all 
the  Stewarts,  blate  to  speak  for  themselves  in  such  a  mat- 
ter.   So  I  am  sent  to  do  it.    This  is  he !  " 

"What?"  cried  King  James,  "the  Lad  in  Black— the 
Nameless  Master  of  Enginry — the  Deevil-Bishop,  the 
Armourer-Clerk — doubtless  some  Douglas  loon  in  dis- 
guise ?  Him  that  made  the  plans  for  the  cannon !  Why, 
I  have  already  given  him  the  barony  of  Balveny !  I  ken 
not  how  that  will  do,  little  lady.  That  was  yince  Douglas 
ground,  and  if  you  set  up  your  banner  there  you  might 
trench  upon  My  Majesty  even  yet!" 

Seeing  I  did  not  answer,  he  went  on,  getting  rid  of  his 
surprise  in  a  cloud  of  words. 

"  Na,  na — let  him  stick  to  his  cannon-making  and  his 
fortifying!  That  will  be  better  than  taking  to  himself 
a  little  rebel  wife  like  yoursel',  wha  will  keep  him  in  het 
water  all  the  days  o'  his  life  I  Let  him  choose  again  and 
choose  better !  " 

"  Better  he  could  not  choose,"  said  I,  "  as,  if  he  hath 
eyes  in  his  head  his  Majesty  must  see  for  himself!  More- 
over, if  Laurence  gets  me  not — he  will  go  to  France  to  the 
service  of  Louis  the  King,  from  whom  already  he  has  had 
great  offers !  " 


A   RARE    SALT    FELLOW  357 

"  Ah,  will  he — will  he  ?  We  will  see  to  that,"  cried  King 
James.  "  We  may  be  poor,  but  we  know  how  to  recom- 
pense our  lieges  as  well  as  how  to  punish  our  enemies. 
There  is  old  Malise  now,  the  Master  Armourer.  He  will 
not  last  long.  At  times  madness  looks  out  of  the  eye  of 
him.  But,  Lord !  what  a  hammerman !  What  a  mighty 
smith !  None  like  him  since  Tubal.  If  only  he  were 
younger  and  had  the  head — faith,  I  would  sit  on  the 
throne  of  Westminster  with  the  Two  Roses,  red  and 
white,  doing  homage  to  me." 

He  stopped  suddenly  as  if  thinking  deeply. 

"  But  there,  lass,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  weared  enough  of 
my  good  time  on  your  fule  marrying  and  gie'in'  in  mar- 
riage. Go  ye  forthwith  to  Bishop  Kennedy,  and  he  will 
put  ye  in  the  way  of  being  even  with  '  Poor  Jack  Neville's 
Anne ! '  But  I  trust  that  your  chances  of  keeping  your 
clerk-lad  to  yourself  are  better  than  poor  Anne's.  Ah, 
the  rogue — what  a  villain !  Troth,  I  would  give  him 
the  Cross  of  St.  Andrew  to  come  back  to  be  my  court- 
jester!" 

"  My  Lord,"  I  made  the  King  answer  with  some  dignity, 
*'  I  pray  recall  it  to  yourself  that  there  was  a  time  when 
a  certain  jest  of  James  Douglas's  well-nigh  made  your 
Majesty  smile  on  the  wry  side  of  your  face.  The  chance 
of  those  few  hours  at  Stirling  when  Ormond  and  Murray 
and  this  same  Lord  James  entered  it  with  a  thousand 
Douglases — I  trow  such  a  man  is  no  safe  court-fool !  " 

"  I  ken — I  ken,"  he  cried,  waving  me  down  with  his 
hand,  "  James  Stewart  is  no  unfriend  to  plain  speech,  and 
takes  no  offence  at  what  you  say.  But  for  all  that  thou 
art  a  little  rebel,  and  if  this  your  Lad  in  Black  is  to  keep 
the  upper  hand  of  you,  he  must  be  of  good  council  and 
have  the  ready  hand.  I  will  take  him  with  me  to  the  siege 
of  Roxburgh  to  teach  him  his  A,  B — Buff!  Meantime 
go  thou  to  the  Bishop.  Get  a  warranty  from  him.  Here, 
Morton,  my  seal!  I  will  write  a  line  on  the  back  of 
Jamie  Douglas's  letter.  '  On  the  day  that  Roxburgh  is 
taken,  this  Laurence  of  the  King's  Name  is  to  have  Mar- 
garet Douglas  in  wedlock! '    There !  " 

Whereupon  he  signed,  sealing  the  missive  with  the  sig- 


358  MAY   MARGARET 

net  royal,  which  IMorton  carried  for  him  in  a  httle  silver 
box.  Ere  he  gave  it  back  to  me,  he  turned  over  the  letter, 
laughing  afresh  at  every  line.  It  seemed  to  have  taken 
him  greatly. 
"  Salt  as  the  sea ! "  he  shouted ;  "a  rare  one,  by  St. 
Andrew !  Let  him  have  his  two  hundred  pounds  in  rose 
nobles  sent  to  John  Tweedie,  that  eident  leather-seller  in 
the  Carlisle  water-gate.  See  to  it,  Morton.  He  deserves 
the  like  and  more.  I  warrant  him — he  will  of  a  surety 
buy  woman's  falderals  with  it  in  the  Chepe — if  he  can  for 
Poor  Jack  Neville's  Anne — if  not,  at  least,  for  some  other 
Anne !  " 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

CANON    LAW 

Accordingly  I  betook  me  to  Bishop  Kennedy,  who  was 
at  Edinburgh  Castle,  having  wholly  supplanted  Crichton 
with  the  King.  A  kindly,  pawky,  common-looking  man 
he  was,  most  like  a  country  meal  miller,  and  with  the  same 
way  of  puckering  up  his  eyes  when  he  spoke  to  you,  as 
if  he  feared  that  you  would  throw  dust  in  them. 

A  thing  which,  according  to  the  popular  mouth,  it  was 
by  no  means  easy  to  do  with  the  same  Bishop  Kennedy. 

But  I  soon  found  that  he  had  heard  of  me,  and  that  he 
was  no  stranger  to  the  repute  of  Sholto  and  Maud  Lind- 
say. He  was  acquainted  also  with  the  young  engineer- 
clerk — to  whom,  for  his  services  in  Galloway,  the  King 
had  given  his  name  and  the  barony  of  Belveny  which 
aforetime  had  been  Little  John's.  Indeed  there  seemed  to 
be  nothing  in  the  realm  of  Scots  of  which  someone  had  not 
properly  advised  my  Lord  Bishop,  and  when  he  saw  the 
King's  letter  he  gave  me  what  I  most  desired — right  good 
encouragement  that  all  should  be  to  my  desire.  _  But  he 
did  it  in  his  own  way  and  took  much  time  about  it. 

"  All  laws  are  full  of  quaintness,"  he  said  with  his  head 
to  the  side,  and  making  a  scratching  on  a  piece  of  parch- 
ment, with  the  side  of  a  pen,  a  noise  to  me  very  disagree- 
able. But  I  minded  not  that,  the  intent  and  purport  of 
his  words  being  good.  "  And  in  none  is  this  quaintness 
so  patent  as  in  canon  law.  For  the  holy  Kirk  is  bound  to 
dwell  in  some  state,  under  Something  or  Somewhat  as 
Overlord,  and  men  are  but  men  with  neck-banes,  the  most 
part  of  them  fearing  (and  most  reasonably)  sharp  swords 
and  the  tow  rope !  Also  it  is  commanded  in  Scripture 
that  we  should  all  fear  and  obey  in  all  things  the  King's 
Most  Excellent  Majesty.  All  which,  together  with  the 
sign  and  seal  upon  the  back  of  this  most  remarkable  letter 

359 


36o  MAY   MARGARET 

from  the  sometime  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  dispose  me 
to  be  of  good  hope  that  your  affair  may  find  a  speedy  and 
a  hoped-for  termination." 

With  that  he  went  to  the  door  and  called  to  him  one 
Gilbert  A'Taggart,  which  surname,  as  I  understand,  sig- 
nifies the  son  of  a  priest.  But  this  Gilbert  was  some  sort 
of  nephew  or  relative  to  my  Lord  Bishop,  though,  of 
course,  not  by  marriage.  He  was  a  young  man,  most 
maiden-like  and  comely,  and  he  bowed  to  me  after  the 
Italian  fashion,  for  his  uncle  had  had  him  educated  at 
Rome,  whence  he  had  brought  back  with  him  a  knowledge 
of  other  things  besides  canon  law. 

"  Seek  me  my  great  book  on  the  law  of  the  Church,  the 
volume  having  regard  to  marriage,"  said  the  Bishop  to 
young  A'Taggart.  "  This  is  the  case.  Listen,  Gilbert. 
You,  who  are  well  read  upon  the  subject,  fresh  from  the 
schools  of  Rome,  can,  perhaps  give  us  light !  " 

The  young  man  bowed  obsequiously,  as  one  who  would 
say,  "  What  your  honour  pleases !  " 

So  presently  the  secretary  brought  a  great  book  of  yel- 
low vellum,  and  the  Bishop  opened  it  at  a  place. 

"  '  Marriage  is  one  of  the  blessed  sacraments  of  the 

Church  apostolic  and  catholic  ! '    Hum — hum !    That 

is  not  it,     '  In  the  event  of  a  man  marrying  his  grand- 
mother  '     No,  nor  does  that  exactly  meet  the  case 

in  hand !  " 

"  These  are  the  facts,  Gilbert "     (Here  he  muttered 

rapidly  in  the  young  man's  ear.)     "Do  not  you  agree 
with  me  ?  " 

"  I  agree,"  concurred  the  youth  promptly ;  "  so  it  was 
ever  decided  by  our  professors  and  teachers  in  the  sem- 
inary. Indeed,  such  was  the  Holy  Father's  own  opinion. 
Your  Eminence  is  perfectly  right  in  his  interpretation. 
A  marvel !  " 

And  while  the  Bishop  continued  to  mumble  the  Latin 
over  and  over,  turning  such  words  as  struck  him  here 
and  there  into  common  speech,  the  secretary  winked  at 
me  confidentially  over  his  shouk'ler,  smiling  after  the 
fashion  of  a  choir  boy  or  an  ill-behaved  acolyte  at  mass. 

But  when  his  master  stood  erect,  shutting  his  finger 


w 
Pi 

> 
w 
o 

en 

< 

X 


O 

2 


< 
►J 

< 
Id 

Q 


CANON    LAW  361 

upon  the  place  in  the  book,  Master  A'Taggart  grew  all  at 
once  of  a  solemn  countenance,  as  if  laughter  were  very 
far  indeed  from  his  thoughts.  The  good  bishop,  having 
thus  consulted  the  authorities  to  his  satisfaction,  stood 
a  full  minute  pursing  his  lips  and  thinking  deeply.  Then 
he  delivered  his  verdict. 

"  Dear  lady,  no  difficulty  whatsoever  exists !  Your  first 
marriage  was  null — being,  by  the  later  Bull  of  the  Holy 
Father,  held  as  lacking  a  necessary  and  binding  part  of 
the  ceremony.  As  to  your  second,  that  also  may  be  con- 
sidered as  void — by  canon  law,  that  is,  having  been  con- 
tracted with  the  brother  of  your — no,  that  will  not  do, 
for  by  hypothesis,  you  had  no  former  husband.  Let  me 
see,  let  me  see — canon  law  is  a  wonderful  thing.  We  will 
try  again.  There  must  be  a  rule  for  that.  Was  James, 
Earl  of  Douglas,  not  your  cousin-german  ?  Ah,  there  is 
something  in  that ! — something  very  grave  in  that !  Mar- 
riage between  cousins  is  against  the  clear  letter  of  canon 
law.  But  the  Bull  of  the  Holy  See,  you  say?  Ah,  I 
had  thought  of  that.  Nothing  is  more  easy.  His  Holi- 
ness was  misinformed  as  to  the  circumstances — that  is 
all.  Yes — yes — it  is  clear  as  day.  Had  the  information 
been  complete,  the  permission  would  never  have  been 
issued — ergo,  you  have  never  been  married  at  all.  Hence 
being  a  spinster,  it  follows  that  you  are  at  liberty  to  marry 
to-morrow  if  you  will.  And  happy  will  the  man  be,  my 
child,  who  takes  you  to  his  heart !  " 

Then  he  turned  to  the  secretary,  who  stood  demure  and 
slim  at  his  elbow. 

"  You  agree  with  me,  I  think,  Gilbert,  do  you  not?" 

"  Your  decision  is  a  marvel  of  acuteness,  my  uncle," 
said  the  youth.  "  Truly  among  all  the  doctors  of  Rome  I 
never  heard  the  like." 

The  Bishop  took  a  pen  and  wrote  rapidly,  talking  to 
himself  all  the  while. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  in  voice  of  pulpit  prelection,  "  to  any  but 
myself  the  case  would  have  offered  difficulties  insuper- 
able. You  will  see  the  King,  my  child.  Tell  him — tell 
him  with  what  ease  I  made  all  clear  as  day ! " 

"  I  am  going  at  once  to  the  camp !  "  I  answered. 


362  MAY    MARGARET 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  is  not  so  good !  My  child,  be  not 
taigled  with  the  men-of-war.  A  camp  is  no  place  for  a 
bairn  like  you — and  ah — betrothed  for  the  first  time  to 
an  husband !  " 

"  But  the  Queen  is  there,"  I  said ;  "  she  goes  to  the  siege 
of  Roxburgh  likewise !  " 

"  Ah,"  he  said  drily,  "  then  tell  the  King  my  decision  by 
himself.  Canon  law  is  not  a  thing  to  be  lightly  spoken  of 
before  women.  He  is  to  remember  that  there  is  nothing 
so  strictly  forbidden  by  the  laws  of  Holy  Church  as 
divorce.  Yet,"  here  he  smiled,  "  why  seek  divorce  when 
it  is  so  much  easier  to  prove  by  canon  law  that  any  pre- 
vious and  undesirable  marriages  never  existed  at  all !  Tell 
the  King  that — pray  tell  the  King  that !     Do  not  forget !  " 

And  indeed,  even  as  the  bishop  had  expounded,  so  it 
was  done — all  duly  and  in  order.  I  was  a  woman  who 
had  never  been  wedded.  James  Douglas  had  committed 
no  fault.  In  killing  William  Douglas,  James  Stewart  had 
but  destroyed  a  rebel  and  a  traitor — not  treacherously 
slain  a  friend  new-risen  from  his  table.  All  by  canon 
law — laid  down  in  order  and  proved  to  the  hilt  from  the 
best  authorities  by  the  excellent  Bishop  of  Dunkeld ! 
Everyone  satisfied,  and  everything  for  the  best ! 

No — not  all.  There  was  an  old  man  with  a  slumberous 
fire  in  the  eyes  of  him — one  Malise  McKim  by  name, 
whom  most  in  that  gay  camp  had  forgotten — who  him- 
self remembered  no  more  his  dead  daughter  (God  grant- 
ing it  so  mercifully !)  but  who  had  not  forgotten  the  mur- 
dered master  he  had  once  served,  nor  yet  the  two  young 
lads  that  had  gone  forth  from  Thrieve  to  their  last  Black 
Dinner  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh. 

All  was  smooth  and  well  ordered  in  the  affairs  of  Scot- 
land and  of  the  King — but  there  was  this  one  blear-eyed 
old  Armourer-Smith  to  be  reckoned  with. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

MALISE  DOES  HIS  WORK 

Right  royally  arrayed  was  the  King's  camp  before  Rox- 
burgh, the  last  English  strength  left  untaken  within  his 
realm.  To  me  it  was  a  wondrous  sight.  For  hitherto 
I  had  seen  only  the  siege  of  a  great  fortress  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  besieged,  and,  indeed,  immured  as 
we  had  been  in  Archibald  the  Grim,  not  a  great  deal  of 
that. 

But  now  I  was  in  the  very  midst  of  the  movement.  On 
the  day  after  my  arrival  the  Queen  sent  for  me,  and 
offered  me  shelter  of  her  pavilion.  I  think  that  some- 
one— perhaps  the  King  himself — had  warned  her  that  a 
Douglas  of  the  Black,  even  in  adversity,  might  not  be 
willing  to  be  the  maid-of-honour  to  the  wife  of  a  Stewart, 

But,  thanks  to  a  lifetime  of  feeding  a  lonely  heart  upon 
the  pride  of  race,  I  had  nothing  of  that  kind  left.  If  they 
would  but  give  me  Laurence,  and  leave  us  two  alone,  with 
meat  and  drink  sufficient  and  clothing  decent  to  put  on, 
I  would  thankfully  have  scrubbed  floors  for  the  Stewart, 
or  stabled  their  beasts  like  any  careful  groom. 

Now,  while  I  remained  in  the  camp  I  was  permitted  to 
go  freely  here  and  there.  I  saw  the  King  constantly — a 
bustling,  ingenious,  angry  man,  subject  to  extraordinary 
bursts  of  temper.  It  was  told  through  the  camp  how  he 
had  gone  to  the  forge  of  the  McKims,  who  were  busy 
with  a  certain  great  gun  which  neared  completion.  Here 
something  had  not  pleased  him.  The  fitting  wedges  were 
not  yet  in  position  about  the  great  rings  of  iron  which 
held  the  gun  together. 

So  in  his  access  of  fury  he  had  lifted  his  hand  to  strike 
Malise.  But  to  the  surprise  of  all,  the  old  smith  took 
with  extraordinary  calmness — almost  indeed  with  humil- 
ity, the  buffet  which  the  King  dealt  him  on  the  cheek.    So 

363 


364  MAY    MARGARET 

much  so  that  all  marvelled  at  it  and  admired — the  King, 
in  his  calmer  moments,  not  less  than  any. 

All  that  the  old  smith  answered  was  only  this ! — "  There 
is  no  need  of  any  words.  That  which  I  have  never  re- 
ceived from  six  earls  of  Douglas,  shall  I  not  take  with 
gratefulness  from  James  Stewart,  King  of  Scots?  Am 
I  not,  for  the  time  being  and  for  the  matter  in  hand,  his 
very  humble  servant?" 

And  when  the  King  again  came  near  with  soft  words, 
having  gotten  over  his  anger,  as  was  his  wont,  Malise 
replied  to  him:  "  Your  Majesty  did  but  that  which  your 
Majesty  had  the  right  to  do.  The  wrong  was  in  this — 
that  there  was  a  slackness  in  the  work.  But  I  promise 
you  the  wedges  shall  be  in  their  places  on  the  day  ap- 
pointed for  the  bombard  to  fire,  which  is  August  the 
third !  " 

And  so  saying,  he  bowed  to  the  ground  in  the  ancient 
fashion.  But  his  son  Laurence,  who  was  in  the  suite  of 
the  King,  told  me  afterwards  that  there  was  a  certain  dull 
red  glow  in  his  father's  eye  which  misliked  him — deep, 
slumberous,  volcanic,  like  the  red  pale-fires  that  look 
down  of  nights  upon  the  fishers  in  the  Bay  of  Naples 
when  the  lavas  are  out  among  the  vineyards  of  Vesuvius. 

As  for  Laurence  himself,  his  father  took  not  the  least 
notice  of  him.  Once  he  had  ventured  to  address  his 
father,  but  Malise  gazed  blankly  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"Steward  of  a  Stewart,"  he  muttered.  "  keep  not  too  near 
thy  master,  the  murderer,  an  thou  wouldst  escape  his 
doom !  Also  keep  far  from  me !  I  have  neither  art  nor 
part  in  thee !  I  do  the  King's  work,  it  is  true,  but  for  a 
time  and  for  a  price.  Go  thou  and  serve  at  thine  own 
anvil,  and  the  King  recompense  thee  according  to  thy 
desert !  " 

But  when  I  came  across  the  old  man  at  the  black  door  of 
the  cavernous  smithy,  where  he  was  ending  his  work,  he 
saluted  graciously  as  of  old.  I  was  his  lady — as  he  said, 
his  true  Master's  wife.  I  inquired  of  him  if  he  had  noth- 
ing to  ask  of  me  concerning  Sholto  and  Maud  and  the 
folk  at  the  Larg  of  Kcnmore,  where  he  had  been  so  happy. 

But  at  this  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  with  the 


MALISE    DOES    HIS   WORK  365 

same  weary  gesture  of  having  forgotten  something.  Then 
gradually  a  part  of  his  memory  returned  to  him. 

"  Ah,  Sholto — yes,  I  mind  now,"  he  murmured,  "  a  good 
lad,  Sholto — good  to  me,  as  was  also  his  wife,  the  daft 
Hielant  lass.  But  (I  deny  it  not)  she  has  grown  wise 
with  time.  Naething  tames  thae  licht-heeled  hizzies  like 
a  raft  o'  bairns.  I  mind  now — I  mind.  I  was  wi'  them 
at  the  Larg  o'  Kenmore.  There  Sholto  is  underlying  the 
King's  displeasure — even  as  I  mysel'  did  yesterday.  He, 
the  Stewart,  strack  me  that  hae  served  sax  o'  his  betters, 
and  been  to  them  even  as  an  honoured  councillor  and  a 
friend.  That  was  what  my  maister,  the  Earl  William, 
your  honoured  husband,  yince  caaed  auld  Malise.  I 
thocht  on  it  yesterday  wi'  the  print  o'  the  Stewart's  hand 
on  my  cheek.  But  I  said  nocht!  Na,  it  didna  become 
auld  Malise  to  be  speakin' !  " 

"  It  was  doubtless  but  the  King's  hot  temper,"  I  said, 
not  wishing  the  old  man  to  fall  into  any  trouble  on  my 
account,  or  that  he  should  bring  himself  within  the 
King's  vengeance.  "  Think  no  more  of  the  matter.  Let 
me  see  you  work !  You  are  as  of  old  the  Master  Crafts- 
man !     None  denies  that  throughout  all  the  camp !  " 

"Aye,  do  they  indeed  say  that?"  he  cried  with  a  leap 
of  something  like  pleasure  to  his  face.  "  Hath  the  old 
hand  not  yet  wholly  lost  its  cunning  ?  " 

I  stood  admiring  the  great  iron  monster  which  on  the 
following  day,  being  the  third  of  August,  was  to  vomit 
forth  its  thunderbolts  upon  the  fortress  of  Roxburgh, 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  "  ye  are  right,  my  Leddy  of  Douglas,  it 
is  indeed. a  great  work!  But,"  here  he  put  his  hand 
gently  on  my  sleeve,  "  I  will  show  you  a  greater  yet." 

And  forthwith  he  took  me  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
forge,  where  on  a  shelf  stood  a  row  of  dark  pails  of  a 
square  shape,  full  of  a  dark  liquid  that  looked  like  oil. 

"  I  will  show  you  a  greater — a  greater,"  he  repeated, 
"  the  Royal  Stewart — bah !     I  turn  the  back  o'  my  hand 

on  her.    But  here "    He  put  his  fingers  into  the  dense 

liquid  and  drew  forth  something  that  shone  ebon-black 
in  the  red  flicker  of  the  forges.  "  None  hath  seen  these 
but  you,  my  lady.     None  hath  the   right  to  see  them 


366  MAY    MARGARET 

save  the  widow  of  the  man  they  murdered  untimely. 

This "  he  continued  with  a  caressing  motion  of  his 

fingers  over  the  poHshed  surface  of  the  wood,  "  is  the  Hfe 
of  a  man  done  up  in  httle.  I  call  this,  '  James  Stewart, 
Second  of  the  name.  King  of  Scots.'  And  this  is  e'en  a 
kinsman  o'  your  ain — '  George  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,' 
the  name  o'  him ;  and  this,"  taking  a  third  from  a  further 
vessel  of  the  same  black  oil,  "  is  your  cousin  of  Morton. 
Then  there  is  eke  yin  caaed  after  mysel' — Auld  Malise 
(to  whom  His  Maker  be  gracious!)  Auld  Malise  the 
Smith,  whom  the  wise  folk  hold  to  be  perturbed  in  his 
mind.  But  believe  them  not,  my  leddy  dear!  Bide  still 
the  morn's  mornin'  and  be  late  in  putting  on  your  claes, 
my  bonny.  There  shall  mair  come  forth  to  see  the  show 
than  shall  gang  hame  frae  auld  Malise's  last  morrice- 
dance  upon  their  feet !  " 

•  •  •  •  * 

But  since  he  had  spoken  thus  at  the  Larg  of  Kenmore, 
and  nothing  had  come  of  it,  I  confess  that  I  paid  no  great 
heed  to  his  words.  Besides  I  was  covenanted  to  meet 
Laurence  that  night,  to  go  with  him  to  the  King  for  his 
last  signatures  and  permissions.  So  after  we  had  come 
forth  from  the  pavilion  royal,  meeting  with  Herries  and 
several  of  the  McKim  brothers  who  had  slipped  away 
from  the  forges  after  the  gloaming,  we  made  together  the 
round  of  the  camp. 

And  Corra  made  plaint  to  his  brothers  of  the  dumb, 
desperate  silences  of  his  father — also,  what  appalled 
them  more,  telling  of  his  curious  gentleness.  It  was 
more  than  a  month  since  he  had  corrected  or  even  threat- 
ened any  of  them  with  a  gaud  of  iron ! 

"  For  all  that,  I  like  it  not,"  said  Corra.  "  Such  woman- 
liness is  not  like  our  father.  He  will  bide  at  the  forge 
half  the  night  working  at  his  own  ploys,  snecking  the 
door  upon  us,  and  daring  us  to  come  within  a  hundred 
paces  of  the  smiddy.  No,  it  is  maist  doom's  unlike  my 
faither !  " 

And  so  said  they  all  of  them. 

But,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  I  paid  small  heed  to  their 
words.    For  I,  who  had  been  shut  up  in  great  cham- 


MALISE   DOES   HIS   WORK  367 

bers  all  my  days,  yet  with  no  goo  for  them — who  had 
seen  life  (in  all  that  concerned  master  and  man,  lord 
and  lackey)  only  from  the  upper  side,  was  pleased  beyond 
words  to  hear  the  crackling  of  the  lighted  camp  fires,  to 
watch  the  press  of  men  about  the  ration  tents,  to  touch 
the  covered  guns  waiting  the  morrow's  morn  to  speak 
their  word,  sheeted  down  to  keep  out  the  dews  of  the  hot 
season.  Yea,  even,  wrapped  in  Laurence's  cloak,  it  tasted 
good  to  me  to  listen  to  the  rough  talk  of  certain  Gal- 
loway lads  about  the  fires.  Some  of  them  were  lying 
toasting  strips  of  ox-flesh  on  pointed  sticks  and  tearing 
off  morsels  as  they  were  ready,  burning  their  fingers  amid 
their  own  imprecations  and  the  laughters  of  their  com- 
rades. 

All  was  gay,  and  made  for  gaiety  in  others.  And  I,  who 
had  lived  these  many  years  retired  and  set  apart,  re- 
joiced beyond  words  to  be  thus  abroad  after  dark  in  the 
midst  of  such  a  moving  jolly  world  of  men  and  things, 
the  great  English  fortress  looming  dark  behind  all,  as  if 
it  leaned  against  the  highest  stars. 

•  •  ■  •  • 

The  next  morning  showed  fair  and  clear.  The  camp 
was  early  astir,  for  this  day  the  great  bombard,  Malise's 
masterpiece,  was  to  speak  for  the  first  time.  The  "  Royal 
Stewart "  was  set  out  on  a  knoll  facing  the  castle,  which 
would  offer  a  fair  enough  mark  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
morning.  From  the  walls,  dark  with  English  archers 
and  culverin-men,  a  fire  was  kept  up  upon  all  who 
showed  themselves  near  enough  to  be  reached,  and  also, 
for  the  honour  of  the  thing,  as  it  were,  powder  was 
wasted  upon  many  others  who  were  far  out  of  reach. 

For  me,  the  night  adventure  in  the  camp,  the  sense  of 
wandering  at  liberty  where  I  had  never  been  permitted  to 
go  before,  under  the  protection  of  the  man  I  loved,  the 
night  air,  the  freshness — all  conspired  to  make  me  sleep 
far  beyond  my  ordinary  hour. 

When  I  sat  up  in  my  bed,  there  grew  conscious  an 
unwonted  sense  of  emptiness  and  loneliness  all  about. 
No  noise  of  merry  voices  in  the  Queen's  pavilion,  at  one 
end  of  which  I  lay — the  every-day  clash  of  arms,  the  bray 


368  MAY    MARGARET 

of  trumpets,  the  brawling  "  kyangle  "  of  voices,  equally 
sunk  into  an  uncanny  silence. 

Actually,  there  was  a  lark  singing  up  somewhere  in  the 
lift. 

I  leaped  from  bed,  and,  swiftly  as  I  could,  did  my 
gown  and  shoes  upon  me.  The  moment  I  looked  out  of 
the  tent  door  all  was  explained.  There  on  a  little  green 
hill  away  to  the  left  of  the  camp,  was  the  great  bombard, 
the  Royal  Stewart,  plain  to  be  seen.  The  King's  artificers 
in  wood  had,  during  the  night,  run  a  little  fence  about 
it  to  keep  at  a  distance  the  crowd  of  sightseers.  But 
within  I  could  see  a  few  figures  moving  about,  Malise 
himself,  the  King,  one  or  two  of  his  lords,  the  royal 
favourites,  and — Laurence. 

All  at  once  there  leaped  up  in  my  mind  the  warnings  of 
Malise  to  me  to  bide  in  my  bed  that  morning.  A  kind 
of  wild  terror  laid  hold  on  me.  Laurence  was  there — it 
might  be  in  sore  and  instant  danger.  What  were  the 
strange  and  ebon-black  wedges  in  their  baths  of  oil. 
They  carried  each  of  them,  Malise  had  said,  the  life  of  a 
man.  He  had  even  named  them — the  King,  Angus,  Mor- 
ton, himself! 

Why  had  he  told  me  this? 

Was  it  only  part  of  that  sombre,  threatening  madness 
which  for  months  had  looked  out  of  his  eyes,  or  some 
sudden  desperate  vengeance  he  was  planning  to  take  upon 
the  murderer  of  the  master  he  had  loved?  Strange  it 
was,  that,  as  soon  as  James  Douglas  escaped  from  his 
revenge,  all  memory  of  Thrieve  and  his  daughter  Mag- 
dalen went  from  his  mind  clean  as  a  wiped  slate.  And 
in  its  place,  imminent,  instant,  overwhelming  as  if  it  had 
happened  yesterday,  stood  forth  the  figure  of  his  true 
master  demanding  vengeance — William  Douglas,  mur- 
dered at  Stirling  by  the  King's  own  hand.  Others  may 
explain  this.  I  only  set  down  the  facts.  It  may  be  that 
through  her  great  sacrifice,  the  spirit  of  Magdalen  had 
found  rest,  but  that  of  William  Douglas,  sent  unsained 
to  its  doom,  troubled  Malise  with  purposes  of  ven- 
geance. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  seeing  Laurence  there  among  the 


MALISE    DOES    HIS    WORK  369 

others,  fear  took  on  me  and  I  ran  for  the  hill-top  with  all 
the  speed  of  which  I  was  capable — no  great  thing  perhaps, 
but  sufficient  to  bring  me  there  in  time  before  the  last 
preparations  were  finished. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  the  King !"  I  cried ;  "let  me  pass." 

The  soldier  at  the  barrier,  knowing  me  of  the  party  of 
the  Queen,  saluted  and  caused  open  a  way  for  me.  I  ran 
straight  up  the  gentle  slope  towards  the  great  bombard, 
which,  huge  as  the  trunk  of  the  greatest  oak  in  Cadzow 
forest,  hung  threateningly  above  my  head  on  its  cradle 
of  iron. 

The  mouth  was  pointed  in  my  direction,  but,  of  course, 
elevated  for  the  range  of  the  castle.  I  ran  straight  upon 
the  group.  Malise  was  busy  about  the  great  iron  mon- 
ster, and,  for  all  his  weight  and  his  years,  running  hither 
and  thither  like  a  cat.  He  had  a  wooden  mallet  in  his 
hand,  and  I  could  see  him  firming  and  loosening  the 
wooden  w^edges  of  the  great  rings,  striking  here  on  the 
broad  butt,  and  anon  with  a  broad-faced  chisel  easing  the 
pressure  again  till  he  had  gotten  the  whole  to  his  mind. 
The  King  and  several  lords  watched  him  with  interest, 
the  King  even  mounting  on  the  cradle  in  order  to  see 
better. 

Laurence,  who  had  pointed  the  gun  for  the  bomb  to 
strike  the  middle  of  the  castle  wall,  stood  a  little  behind, 
and  at  first,  as  I  came  from  the  front,  was  hidden  from 
my  sight  by  the  black  mass  of  the  gun  and  her  carriage. 

I  stopped  short,  not  knowing  what  to  do  or  say.  All 
seemed  as  it  should  be,  every  man  absorbed  in  the  great 
occasion.  Yet,  perhaps  for  that  reason,  it  was  left  to 
me,  a  woman,  to  see  something  which  had  escaped  all 
the  others. 

The  wedges  were  those  nfhich  I  Jmd  seen  in  the  oil- 
tanks — black,  dripping,  polished  like  glass. 

Stop !  "  I  cried,  "  I  beseech  you  all  to  go  away.     There 
is  danger  here — perhaps  death  !  " 

_  The  King  looked  over  and  saw  me.     He  had  been  stand- 
ing on  the  carriage  pillar. 

"  What  would  you  ? "  he  cried  angrily.  "  This  is  no 
place  for  girls.     Get  you  to  the  Queen !  " 


370  MAY   MARGARET 

Then  I  saw  the  slumberous  red  eyes  of  Malise  as  he 
erected  himself  from  his  wedge-tapping.  They  were  not 
malignant,  more  kindly  and  pleasant,  indeed,  than  usual. 

"  Let  her  bide — let  her  bide,"  he  cried.  "  She  hath  lost 
her  good  liege  Lord !  What  wants  she  more  with  this 
world?" 

"  But  there  is  danger,"  said  the  King,  motioning  with 
his  hand.    "  Go — I  command  you.    We  are  about  to  fire  !  " 

At  the  word  Malise  went  to  the  touch-vent,  standing  a 
moment  high  above  all  with  the  lighted  match  in  his  hand. 
His  face,  which  had  been  lurid  and  dark  even  in  the  light 
of  the  high  blue  day,  suddenly  and  inexplicably  cleared. 

"  King  of  Scots,"  he  cried,  "  there  is  one  thing  I  would 
say  before  we  try  the  bombard.  Its  name  shall  not  be 
the  *  Royal  Stewart,'  but  the  '  Royal  Douglas,'  in  mem- 
ory of  him  whom  ye  slew  because  he  was  the  greater. 
His  voice  shall  speak  to-day !  " 

I  could  see  the  lords  draw  together  and  touch  each 
other  knowingly  with  hand  and  elbow. 

''  The  mad  smith  is  worse  than  usual  to-day ! "  That 
is  what  they  meant  to  say,  with  a  sneer  and  a  laugh. 

But  the  King,  with  an  imperturbable  face,  held  his 
ground.  Certainly  no  coward  was  this  James  Stewart, 
called  of  the  Fiery  Face. 

"  Christen  it  what  you  will,  only  go  on — do  your  work, 
Malise  McKim,"  he  cried.  "Come  hither,  Angus! 
Hither  to  me,  Morton !  This  is  a  sight  ye  shall  not  see 
twice!" 

"  Nay,  not  twice ! "  cried  the  old  smith  mockingly, 
"  hither  Angus !  Hither  Morton — traitor  Douglases 
both !  Ye,  too,  have  slain  your  master — learn  how  to 
die!" 

By  this  time  I  had  my  hand  upon  the  collar  of  Lau- 
rence's blouse,  of  the  strong  rough  stuff  which  he  wore 
at  his  enginry.  Suddenly  leaning  all  my  weight  upon  it, 
I  brought  us  both  to  the  ground  at  the  very  moment 
when  1  saw  Malise  set  his  blazing  match  to  the  touch- 
hole! 

The  roar  of  the  bombard  was  followed  by  a  cry  more 
great  and  terrible  still.     For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if 


MALISE   DOES    HIS    WORK  371 

all  who  a  moment  before  had  stood  about  were  lying  in 
their  blood.  The  great  cannon  had  burst  at  the  first  trial. 
The  wedges  had  slipped  like  glass.  Morton  was  fallen 
on  his  face  with  his  arms  outspread.  Angus,  pale  as 
parchment,  lay  wounded  to  the  death.  The  King,  when 
they  went  to  lift  him  up,  was  dead.  And  as  to  Malise  the 
Smith,  after  that  great  explosion,  in  plain  words — he  was 
not! 

•  •  •  •  • 

Thus  was  avenged  the  Great  Treachery  of  the  ante- 
chamber of  Stirling.  Only  Laurence  and  I  came  through 
scatheless,  of  all  that  watched  the  first  firing  of  the  mighty 
bombard  the  Royal  Stewart,  the  masterpiece  of  the  Arm- 
ourer Smith,  Malise  McKim.  Yet  none  knew  that  the 
old  man  had  given  his  life  to  avenge  his  master.  None, 
that  is,  save  I  Margaret  Douglas,  who  had  seen  the 
wedges  asteep  in  the  black  oil,  and  the  man  whom  God 
had  given  me.  "  It  was  an  accident,"  said  all  men.  And 
Laurence  and  I  let  them  think  so.     For  that  was  best. 

Even  as  Malise  had  foretold,  so  it  came  to  pass.  The 
very  wedge  which  he  had  called  by  the  name  of  ''  James, 
King  of  Scots,"  slew  the  King,  striking  him  swift  and 
sudden,  even  as  he  had  slain  William,  Earl  of  Douglas, 
his  friend  and  guest. 

Thus  and  not  otherwise  did  Malise  the  Smith  finish  his 
work. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE     WORN     PATH 

I  AM  an  old  woman,  and  wearied  with  much  writing;  yet 
Hke  any  young  girl,  I  have  my  dreams  of  love,  and  may  be 
permitted  to  tell  them.  Late  have  I  sat,  and  long;  early 
have  I  risen,  and  oft,  through  the  stars  of  midnight,  I 
have  seen  the  daylight  break  upon  the  world  as  I  sat  at 
my  task.  And  now  that  it  is  done,  though  I  had  thought 
that  I  would  rejoice,  my  heart  is  no  little  sore ;  for  the 
days  are  long  without  Laurence,  and  the  bairns  also  gone 
forth  from  me,  though  only  to  homes  of  their  own,  houses, 
and  husbands,  and  children. 

Yet  why  should  I  complain?  Few  are  the  women  who 
have  known  a  longer  or  a  happier  life  with  the  man  of 
their  heart  that  I  had  with  Laurence.  Two  children  were 
given  to  us,  and  now  remain  to  me — that  is,  as  often  as 
their  husbands  will  let  them. 

But.  better  than  the  great  places  they  inhabit,  I  love  the 
little  house  of  Balveny,  where  Laurence  and  I  tried  the 
day  of  mean  things,  and  found  it  right  pleasant.  Yet  as 
well,  or  better  almost,  do  I  love  the  Larg  of  Kenmore, 
where  still  dwell,  in  their  green  age  and  unseared  leaf, 
Sholto  and  Maud  together.  I  grudge  them  not  their 
untouched  happiness.  Maud  is  dearer  to  me  than  ever. 
She  it  was  helped  me  to  close  my  husband's  eyes,  each  of 
us  holding  a  hand,  and  Sholto  standing  at  the  feet. 

Then  she  came  and  kissed  me. 

"  We  are  old  women,  you  and  I,  Margaret,"  she  whis- 
pered ;  "  but  it  is  good  to  have  known  love  once,  and  life 
once,  aye,  and  also  death  once,  when  it  breaks  not  love !  " 

And,  indeed,  she  was  right,  and  Kennedy,  the  great 
Bishop,  was  right.  All  these  forty  years  of  my  wedded 
life  with  him,  scarce  once  did  I  think  that  thrice  I  had 
stood  at  the  altar.     I  had,  as  said  the  canon  law,  been 

372 


THE   WORN    PATH  373 

wedded  but  once.  I  was  the  wife  of  one  husband,  even 
Laurence — who  alone  taught  me  the  sweetness  of  poverty 
when  it  is  shared  betwixt  two,  and  the  steadfast  gladness 
of  that  pavilion  of  love — which  to  us  was  a  quiet  habita- 
tion, a  tabernacle  not  to  be  taken  down,  nor  the  stakes 
removed,  nor  so  much  as  one  of  the  cords  thereof  broken. 
For  the  rest  there  remains  little  to  tell,  save  that  which 
shall  sufficiently  serve  to  round  my  tale. 

Duly  James  Douglas  gat  his  two  hundred  rose  nobles 
from  the  King's  treasury,  whether  "  Poor  Jack's  Neville's 
Anne  "  profited  by  them  or  no  I  will  not  swear.  Like 
the  wild  ass  he  was,  James  abode  in  London,  snuffing  up 
the  air  of  hostels  and  taverns,  of  palaces  and  call-houses, 
with  an  equal  relish.  Upon  occasion  he  would  lead  an 
army  into  Wales  or  head  a  foray  upon  Scotland  with  the 
cheerful  readiness  of  the  mercenary. 

Happy  and  well  he  lived  (I  doubt  it  not),  his  sword 
on  his  thigh,  his  damoiselle  by  his  side — Jack  Neville's 
Anne  or  another — little  it  mattered  to  hard-living,  hard- 
fighting  Lord  James,  last  Earl  of  Douglas  and  first  Scots 
Knight  of  the  Garter. 

But  at  the  utmost  end  of  his  life,  by  one  of  those  twists 
of  fortune  which  advertise  a  Providence  with  a  certain 
sense  of  the  humour  of  things,  it  was  his  lot  to  die  a  monk 
of  Lindores — he  who  had  taken  life  with  both  hands 
and  said,  "  This  and  this  shall  be  mine,  because  it  is 
good !  "  And  the  word  he  spake  upon  his  ill  fortune  is 
worth  setting  down.  For,  being  captured  on  a  raid  into 
Scotland  fighting  with  the  English  against  his  own 
countryfolk,  they  asked  him  whether  he  was  content  to 
save  his  life  by  becoming  a  brother  of  the  monastery  of 
Lindores. 

"  Ow  aye,"  quoth  James  Douglas,  "  he  that  can  no  bet- 
ter do,  maun  e'en  be  a  monk !  " 

•  •  •  •  • 

And  now,  not  unhappy — nay,  often  strangely  filled  with 
joy,  when  Maud  and  Sholto  are  not  with  me,  I,  Margaret 
Douglas,  called  Stewart,  sit  by  the  window  and  read  what 
of  Laurence's  books  my  dim  old  eyes  can  make  out. 
They  were  bonny  to  look  into  once  (so  they  told  me). 


374  MAY    MARGARET 

And  mostly  I  think  on  the  things  that  were.  On  WilHam 
Douglas  whom  I  never  loved — on  James  that  never  loved 
me — on  the  last  of  the  Douglases  of  the  Black  laid  aneath 
the  parsoun's  lilac  bushes  in  the  quiet  kirk-acre  of  Bal- 
maghie.  Upon  the  slow  becking  up  of  the  vengeance  fires 
in  the  heart  of  Malise,  I  also  make  my  meditation.  But 
most  I  think  upon  the  marvellous  long  arm  of  God,  the 
Maker  of  all,  and  how  and  why  He  permitted  the  ill-doer, 
even  James  of  Douglas,  to  flourish  till  his  green  bay  tree 
grew  sear  and  old — nay,  to  die  at  the  last  a  holy  man. 

And  then  I  wonder,  high  and  sore  I  wonder — as  to  re- 
pentance and  punishment — kirk  law  and  canon  law,  the 
law  of  the  sowing  and  the  law  of  reaping  that  which  a  man 
hath  sown — of  Him  too  of  whom  the  Douglases,  Black 
and  Red  alike,  thought  not  mickle — yet  who  came  (so  I 
read)  to  teach  forgiveness  to  men.  As  to  that,  I  was  as 
my  forbears  till  Laurence  taught  me.  For  my  husband 
was  great  and  wise,  and  learned  the  spirit  of  Joseph's 
Son — practised  it,  too,  which  is  more. 

So  now  in  these  last  days  I  can  think  of  Lindores  and  of 
James  Douglas  mumbling  litanies  in  his  stall — yea,  and 
even  hope  (I  have  not  yet  made  it  a  prayer)  that  after 
all  he  died  forgiven.  That  he  would  never  ask  it,  I  know. 
He  never  dreamed  he  had  done  aught  to  need  forgiveness. 

But  most  of  all,  and  that  which  brings  the  strange  suf- 
fusing joy  to  eyes  that  have  looked  on  the  world  for  over 
seventy  years,  is  to  sit  with  the  window  open  upon  the  fell, 
watching  the  little  path  which  his  feet  wore — the  way 
Laurence  used  to  come  home  to  me  for  forty  years. 

Then,  while  I  sit  long  and  con  over  the  Book,  which  he 
taught  me  to  read  in  our  long  years  together,  till  I  am 
a-weary,  lo !  the  gloaming  comes  up  the  glen,  and  there 
goes  a  thrilling  through  me  that  is  not  of  this  earth.  The 
age  vanishes  from  my  limbs.  The  sight  returns  to  my  dim 
eyes.  The  clear  heaven  opens  above,  and  I  come  out 
upon  a  place  where  there  is  no  night. 

But  even  then  the  path  his  feet  trod  remains  on  the  hill- 
side yonder.  I  can  see  it  sitting  here — yes,  sitting  and 
waiting — an  old  woman,  but  with  a  young  heart  in  my 
breast. 


THE   WORN    PATH  375 

Also  I  know,  and  rejoice  that  the  time  is  not  far  off  when 
I  shall  see  him  come  down  that  path,  my  Laurence,  whom 
I  loved. 

Then,  from  the  old  worn  chair  where  I  have  watched 
and  waited  for  him  so  long,  I  shall  rise  to  my  feet  and 
say,  "Beloved! "  And  behold,  after  that,  the  chair,  the 
house,  and  the  world  shall  know  me  nO'  more  for  ever ! 

Because  he  and  I  shall  have  gone  up  that  worn  path 
together,  hand  in  hand,  silent — but  not  afraid. 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEC  2  6  195^ 

M0 1969 


Form  L9-10m-l, '52(9291)444 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  365  274 


t 


'1 


